The Pit of Sargeras
by Ihsan997
Summary: A night elf sniper wakes up in a platform maze hanging over a pit. With a knight from Stormwind, a shackled draenei paladin, a human who thinks he's an orc and a woman who is actually an orc, Irien has to find a way out before she and her unlikely friends are sacrificed by the Cult of Sargeras. Eight chapters.
1. Wake Up

Irien Rainsong's head was spinning. Although she could vaguely tell which way was up and which way was down, the just held her arms over her head with her eyes shut tight as she waited for the proverbial carousel to stop.

It was a weird sensation, she thought, to feel like her body was spinning around a central point when she knew she was holding perfectly still. She almost felt like she had been caught in a bad storm - she had actually been at work on one of the Steamwheedle goblin ships during the Cataclysm. This wasn't that bad, but it still wasn't an enviable situation.

Pretending she was only caught in a storm at sea, where she had worked for so many years, made dealing with the confusion a bit easier. Eventually, she would need to open her eyes and figure out where the hell she was. Controlling her breathing, she slowly felt her heart rate go down, and even though the world kept on spinning around her she could feel the nausea begin to subside. Once she began to feel as though she weren't being tossed about in a hurricane, she removed one arm from her head and began to feel her body for injuries. Her mail armor hadn't been damaged, and aside from the usual dull ache of lying in the same position for a long time, she seemed to be alright.

Her rifle was gone. THAT wasn't alright. Rather liberal for a night elf, she eschewed the bows her mother had tried to force on her for what she found more effective: a high powered hunting rifle. But it had been taken, by…well, whoever the hell dumped her wherever she had been dumped.

When she opened her eyes, she couldn't see anything, and the woozy feeling in her head implied that it might take a moment for her vision to adjust. She smelled no odd smells and heard no odd sounds, and there was nobody else around sending vibrations through the air with their movements; Irien was alone. As she sat up, she took relief in how well rested she was. Irien had struggled with chronic fatigue syndrome since even before she had enrolled in the ranger academy in Darkshore. Her condition led to her failure in the academy due to her inability to participate in long patrols through the forest or drawn out melee battles. Once the night elves ended their isolation and opened up to the world - thank the Goddess - they had begun to import all sorts of inventions, gunpowder among them. Within a month, she found her true talent and proved to be a better shot than the dwarf woman functioning as the Ironforge consul in Auberdine.

But no, that wasn't good enough for the academy. That wasn't good enough for her mom. So Irien ran away and never looked back, and hasn't regretted it since. Not even now.

Shaking her head when she realized her pulse was racing, Irien pushed the thoughts out of her head. She had to break that habit of intentionally pissing herself off by exploring bad memories when she got bored. However long she had been out had been long enough for her body to rest, which was both soothing and frightening. Soothing because her condition generally required her to rest for a long time - sometimes days - to recover from more strenuous outings. Frightening because she must have been out cold for a long time; every muscle in her body felt relaxed.

She looked all around her and immediately new things were amiss. Her people could see in the dark, yet all she saw now was darkness. That couldn't be right; her sensitive ears allowed her to feel the shape of the walls with echolocation. Not all people with such long ears could do it; it was one of the few skills she had picked up over her thousand years of living. Even her simple breathing caused enough noise for her to wait until the sound bounced back from the walls, and she could tell that she was in a small room with an open, doorless entryway.

But she couldn't see. That had to be wrong.

When Irien raised her hands up in front of her, she could finally make out the complexion of her violet skin. It didn't make any sense; there was no light source to be seen. She couldn't even see the entryway she knew existed, yet she could see herself. She could see her armor. She could see the shoulder length locks of dark indigo hair in the corner of her eye. But she couldn't see the walls of the room or the bars of the cage she suddenly figured out she was inside. This had to be magic. There was no other explanation.

She closed her eyes again as she leaned against the wall of her tiny cage and tried to revisit the last thing she could remember.

Irien had been patrolling a postal road outside of a garrison in Talador. The campaign against the Iron Horde had been going well, and her employers - the neutral Steamwheedle Cartel - had assigned her a shipping route to protect. The Alliance and Horde both needed to communicate with the native people of this alternate version of Draenor as well as with each other occasionally, and it was the job of Irien and her friends to protect the messengers carrying those communications. She had ventured out alone, separate from their caravan. They all did that sometimes, whether to answer the call of nature or to observe the natural beauty of Draenor before it became Outland. The job was satisfying but could be rather boring at times, especially when they had cleared all the bandits out of a given area.

So when Irien spied a few cult worshippers of the demonic Sargeras, she leapt at the opportunity to crack some skulls. They ran the moment they saw her, and she took aim through the scope of her rifle without remorse; the cultists were vile, and took great pleasure in torturing the common people of Draenor - draenei and orc alike. Although Irien would eventually leave this planet and return to the property she'd split with her two best friends in Ratchet once her contract was complete, she still considered filling the fanatical cultists with lead to be a worthy endeavor.

And that's when she…felt tired.

Yes, she remembered it now. She felt tired while she was chasing them, but not the usual type of tired associated with her condition. It wasn't logical. She lied down on the ground in an open area and slept. It was crazy; she wouldn't normally do that. And yet, as if she were being controlled by something else, she did.

After that, Irien could remember a damn thing. This didn't add up at all.

Those demon worshippers…they kidnapped her. She knew it had to be them. They kidnapped her, stole her rifle and threw her in this unnaturally darkened dungeon. But they made a huge mistake: they left her alive. And armored up. And when she found a way to get out of this stupid little cage, she'd make sure every single one of them would die. They'd better hope her friends didn't find them, either. If her mentor Cecilia, a 12,000 year old who was already older and wise by the time of the War of the Ancients, were to find out that her protege had been kidnapped by demon worshippers…suffice to say having their skulls cracked was the least of their worries.

Wait - another sound. Irien twitched her long ears to pick up the echoes. One of her captors sounded like they were approaching. She lied down in the same position she had woken up in, wasting no time in formulating a plan. From what she could tell - and echolocation was one of her few talents, and she was among the best at it - the person approaching was draenei, male, heavy set and carrying metal items. And walking rather slowly. Irien was already to beat his head in just for being a part of her abduction; the way he walked so slow like he was the weekend co-manager of the universe enraged her even more.

But Irien was a sharpshooter; waiting for the right moment was her specialty, even in high stress situations. And wait she did.

A little more.

And a little more.

 _What the hell_ , she thought at the dummy who was definitely coming to her cell, _hurry your fat behind up so I can kill you._

She had to close her eyes tight due to the bright silver glow, and did her best to control her breathing again as she heard hooves clopping on the floor. The advantage was hers, here. Her feet were already placed securely across the cage's bars, and her weight rested on one shoulder poised to strike. The sound informed her that the bars were wide enough apart for her to grab appendages but not wide enough apart for her captors to hit her effectively. This asshole was all hers.

Stupidely, he bent down to take a look at her, and she heard the tendons in his knees pull taught as he practically knelt down next to her. Moron.

 _Here goes nothing_ , she thought.

"Ghhhhrrr!" the man grunted through clenched teeth as Irien shot out and grabbed him by the hypersensitive neck tendrils.

Her dear friend Anushka, a spastic, naive but truly caring friend, was also a draenei and had once explained to Irien how much it hurt to have those tendrils yanked on. And so Irien yanked so hard that she heard the fibruous tissue inside tear. Even in the scuffle, she was surprised at how the man refused to cry out in pain and assumed it was part of some vow of silence mandated by their crap beliefs. The man reached his fat wrists through the cage and grabbed at her hands, and she immediately sank her fangs into the flesh of his fingers. All the needed to do was anchor him long enough to reach his neck.

She didn't have to wait long. Leaning in, the guy tried to push on Irien's face to prevent her from biting, refusing to scream the entire time. He was in such a panic that he barely even reacted when Irien flicked her long, claw-like fingernails at his neck and sliced his jugular vein vertically, causing his blood to gush like a fountain. Normally her style wasn't as gruesome, though just in case of scenarios like this one her mentor had taught her a few desperate measures.

Squeezing on to the man's neck tendrils and hand for dear life, she felt his life force fade as he bled out. Irien didn't even need to know who the hell he was to know she felt no remorse for his death; he was a cultist and obviously wasn't coming to let her go. Anyone else like him would be dying as well, no questions asked. Only when he had stopped moving entirely did Irien collapse back against the wall. She didn't feel particularly winded from that brief exchange, but she didn't want to take any chances in such a dire situation. Lying back down for perhaps longer this was wise, Irien waited for her nerves to calm before she reached through the cage to pilfer the man's robe pockets with one hand and to feel the bars of her cage for a lock with the other. Simultaneously, she located both along with a dagger sheathed on the cultist's belt.

 _Jackpot_ , she thought. Pulling on his neck tendrils must have caused him so much pain that he couldn't think straight enough to use the blade. She would have to keep that in mind for later.

The keychain only had three keys, and Irien tested them as slowly as possible to avoid creating any noise. The second key worked, and the cage swung open. Although her backpack had been taken from her, her belt pouch had not, and she stores the keys and attached the man's dagger sheath to her belt. Stuffing his carcass back in the cage, she hit the wall near the entryway and began to think as she stared into the unnatural darkness of the room. If she had been brought in, then that meant there was a way out. She would have to find it, kill anybody in her way and reach the nearest postal road to signal for help.

If she were still in Talador. Irien shuddered slightly before pushing that specific idea out of her head.

Finally peeking out from behind the corner, she was only treated to more darkness. The air pressure outside her room signaled that the short hall led to some sort of open atrium. She heard no voices or machines, and she could sense no movement. Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she waited for the echo to return to her the way she had been taught and when it bounced back, she nearly gasped. The atrium had to have been three stories high, but empty aside from a solid, doorless structure in the middle. She clicked a few more times and was able to make out the shape of a ziggaraut in the middle and walls leading...well, it must have been at least half a mile of hollowed out emptiness until the far wall.

Most importantly, she did not detect any other people as she listened to her clicks bouncing back to her. Feeling reassured, Irien shadowmelded - using her people's ability to shift their outer appearance to almost transluscent - and crept out of her room.

She could feel the drop in air pressure and her scalp tingled. This place was huge, and navigating through it would take a very long time. Clicking once every second, Irien drafted a mental map of the dark prison she found herself stuck in. Even worse than the size of it were the gaps: rather than a solid floor, she sensed a series of platforms turning at ninety degree angles and reaching dead ends - drop off points - like a maze without walls. And what absolutely terrified her was that below the platforms, her echoes didn't return. It was either more foul magic or they really were over a very deep pit.

Creeping carefully, Irien walked. To where, she did not know, but she was alone in the dark and had to keep moving. Waiting around would get her nowhere and Sargerei cultists obviously weren't about to extend any helping hands.

Minutes ticked by as she walked along the platform, always measuring the paths before her without walking. In Darkshore, the forests were dense but night elves can see in the dark. The headmistress at the ranger academy had always thought that echolocation was a waste of time for all but the blind, but Irien knew what many of her superiors did not: their people could not remain pigeonholed into the old class and talent spec system. Any sort of skills could be of benefit given the right situation, and the criticism of her peers and superiors for her eclectic choice of talents melted away as Irien realized how helpless she would feel had she not learned to mimic the behavior of the many bats darting in and out of the Darkshore canopy. Irien always remained on the platforms closest to the wall, afraid to find herself stranded and then end up discovered by enemies.

As she searched - it was at least half an hour and probably more - she detected more entryways along the walls. Her chest swelled with pride when she realized she could even detect on the far opposite walls half a mile away, though her hopes quickly sank when she remembered that the exit might be half a mile away across a maze in the darkness.

Wait.

Breathing.

Two people.

Close.

Soon...

Irien crouched lower but increased her speed, clicking even more quickly - if they were draenei as most cultists were, they would be able to hear her anyway. There was an entryway in the wall on her left, much like the hall where she had woken up. Her heart raced as she realized it would lead to something. Whether that something was a fight, a friend, or food didn't matter; it was something. At every step, she grew nearer to the room and the echoes of her tongue clicks painted an even more detailed picture. The room was small like hers, and there was a turn in the platform like a little bridge leading to it. Very thin lines implied the presence of another cage with bars, and someone lying in it. There was another person standing over it, merely watching.

That was her target; this was no time for caution and Irien felt absolutely no moral qualms over what she was about to do. This was kill or be killed, and whoever was standing and staring over the cage - friend or foe - was about to be killed. She would not put her own life at risk for anyone else in this Goddess forsaken place.

The platform was solid obsidian, and it neither vibrated nor created noise as she turned left and approached the room. The person standing there was an acolyte of some sort, and appeared to be holding a book and chanting in the draenei language. Good. It was a cultist. Not only would she feel no remose, but she might actually have fun.

Irien wasn't a rogue, but all members of her race could stealth to an extent. Her mail armor wasn't particularly light, but after a thousand years she had learned how to creep while wearing it. The acolyte had no clue and didn't see it coming - not even when Irien plunged the dagger in the woman's throat.

"Hrrrrgghh," the cultist gurgled as she crumpled to the ground.

Before she hit the floor, Irien came out of her shadowmeld. The vile 'prayer' book hit the ground and she distinctly heard the clink of keys and another dagger. Jackpot again.

More immediately, Irien found what complicated her situation somewhat - hopefully, for the better. Already awake at the bottom of the cage, an orc woman with the green skin signifying those of her race from Azeroth - Irien's own timeline - sat up.


	2. Over the Pit

The night elf and the orc stared at each other for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say as the draenei cultist on the floor between them thrashed and choked on her own blood. They both ignored the cultist, and Irien could tell that the orc, much as herself, felt zero pity. Perhaps even a negative amount of pity.

The three women - two healthy but trapped and one dying in a pool of her own blood - created very little noise, and Irien still couldn't hear anyone else in the huge pit, either. As the cultist's fel green eyes slowly faded into nothing, the two captives got a good look at each other.

Inspecting her for weapons first and injuries second, Irien could immediately tell that the orc female was also a victim. She bore no scars or signs of discomfort, but had also been disarmed and was in a cage. Just as her own room, the cage, the bars, the walls, the ceiling and the floor were invisible - nothing but darkness. And just like Irien's case, the orc woman herself was visible in spite of all logic. The dead draenei female remained visible even after death, so life obviously wasn't a prerequisite to stay opaque under whatever spell had been cast on this dank place. The orc wore the combination of leather trappings and sparse, strategically placed mail typical of the grunts of the Horde, and like most of her kind, she appeared strong; shorter than Irien but possibly possessing the same amount of muscle power. Her head had been shaved aside from a small square toward the back of her head, which was long and tied in a ponytail. Though Irien wasn't an expert (and really didn't find non-night elves attractive...no offense to Cecilia's choice in men), she imagined that the orc might appear pretty to those of her kind in addition to bearing the scars of a war veteran.

As far as Irien was concerned, that just meant she would be light and quick on her feet. All she really needed from the woman was backup to help her escape this place. And judging by the lack of animostiy - indeed, almost relief - written on the orc woman's face, she felt the same way.

The orc said nothing, inspecting Irien right back. Needing a way to get to the point without arousing suspicion, she wiped the dagger on the cultist's robes and grabbed the new set of keys while she was kneeling.

"I escaped my cage with keys like these," Irien said in Orcish. Working for a neutral organization, eschewing membership in either one of the two major factions, required her to learn the world's main trade languages. She wasn't fluent, but she was certainly functional.

The orc leaned forward at the sound of her own language, and when she squinted at Irien's pauldrons - which didn't match the rest of her armor, not that anything she was wearing was color coordinated anyway - Irien knew the woman was looking at the Steamwheedle insignia.

"You aren't a member of the Alliance?" the orc asked curiously.

"Does it matter in this situation?" It took Irien a moment of thinking to formulate the sentence, but by the woman's reaction, she knew she had been understood.

"I guess not," the orc replied. Moving forward on her knees and gripping the bars, she appeared to have little caution despite their situation and the fact that each of them had no idea who the other was. "Do you know how to escape?"

Shaking her head, Irien spoke freely, feeling an immediate sense of comfort around the stranger - likely due to the nightmare like situation they both shared. "I do not. I cut a guard's neck and took his keys, and this is the first place I found."

"Nice," the woman replied, smiling wide as though they were already friends. The smile faded slightly as the woman looked at the keys in Irien's hands silently. "I can be of great help, if you would let me out of this cage."

Without question, Irien began fiddling with the keys. In any other case, she would not trust someone she had just met, especially a non-Kaldorei - not in a thousand years. And given what Irien knew of orcs - she honestly suspected they were brighter than the humans they fought with so ceasingly - then this woman wouldn't have trusted her, either. But as she tried key after key, she actually let a wave of relief surge over her. The woman was not tained by fel magic and was obviously a prisoner like her. And wherever they were, whatever the hell was going on, they would both want the same thing: to get out of there.

The third key worked, and Irien stood back and braced the cage door with her back. If the orc woman rushed her aggressively, she would be able to slam it back shut on her green fingers. Seeming to understand that they didn't quite know how much they could let their guard down in front of one another, the orc waited until the night elf backed away and crouched against the wall before she left the cage and sat down. The two of them inspected each other again, neither of them moving to leave.

"I'm not with them," Irien offered quickly, not wanting to spend more time on introductions than was necessary.

"Nor am I," the orc answered, and then jumped right into the conversation without hesitation. Irien had a feeling they might have similar personalities. "Do you remember anything?" she asked.

"Chasing these people," Irien replied while punching the cultist's corpse. "And then I went to sleep."

The orc sighed through her nose and looked down. "The same," she said while thumbing her own chest. "I don't know anything about this place."

"Were you in Talador when it happened?" Irien asked a bit worriedly. She had no way of knowing where they were currently, but if they had been abducted in the same place, there was at least a chance they hadn't been taken far.

"Yes, not far from Vol'jin's Pride. Do you know it?"

"Know it? I've stayed there before," Irien almost laughed and her pride in her travels lessened her dread from her current predicament. "Steamwheedle handles jobs everywhere, even on Draenor."

The woman nodded blankly. Her body appeared well rested, but the question about their location seemed to take a mental toll. If she allowed the pressure to affect her, she would be a less useful ally, and Irien tried her best to reassure the orc. "I wasn't far from Fort Wrynn, which is also in the northeast of Talador. We were not far from each other when we were taken. Maybe we are still near the same place."

In a flash, the orc stiffened and Irien could feel the suspicion radiating from her. "How did you get to my cage?" the greenskin asked slowly.

Irien didn't want to waste any more time, nor did she want to cause the woman any alarm. She needed to escape and would likely need help, and given the size of the place they were in, there were probably a lot more cultists than just the ones she had killed. The problem, however, was that Irien didn't know how to say 'echolocation' in Orcish.

"I do this," she said while clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth more loudly than normal. "Then I do this." She flapped her ears a bit, a talent not all elves possessed but which she had cultivated in front of the bathroom mirror as a child.

The orc's demeanor loosened back up right away. "Like a bat," she said with a non-mocking smile.

"Yes, exactly. I can find a way out," she insisted, trying to stay focused on the subject of her - now, their - escape.

Once again pleasing the night elf, the orc followed her lead exactly. "I can help you. I can't see in here, but I am very strong. I will kill many zealots." Even with the obvious confidence in her abilities, Irien could also sense the hint of desperation in the woman's voice. She was on edge, just like Irien, yet tried to hide it, also just like Irien. At least she wasn't alone in feeling slightly panicked.

No need to drag this out any further, the sharpshooter with nothing to shoot with thought. I think I'll get along with this woman just fine. "Irien Rainsong," she said, extending her hand to shake as most outlanders seemed to do.

The orc rose to one knee to reach forward and reciprocate. "Tharga," she said just half a second afterward, glancing at the dead cultist as if to check for any jumpiness on Irien's part.

She knew what the orc wanted, and also knew they had no time to waste on trust issues. "Please," Irien said while motioning toward the sheath on the corpse's waist, and she made sure not to flinch when the orc drew the second cultist's dagger and affixed it to her own belt.

She led Tharga to the end of the hallway and stopped just before the platform. Keeping her new companion alive was part of keeping herself alive. Plus, even though they had known each other for all but five minutes, Tharga was still a living being and shared Irien's miserable state; the night elf felt both the basic concern for another non-hostile life form as well as an almost instinctual form of solidarity being stuck in captivity together.

"The floor is like bridges here," Irien explained quietly. She didn't know how to say 'platforms' in Orcish and knew she was setting out for a laborious task. "Many narrow bridges with turns."

"And below?" Tharga asked, though her tone insinuated that she already knew.

"Nothing, all the way down. Stay close to me."

And with that, the two left silently. To where, Irien didn't know exactly and Tharga didn't ask. There was no need to, really; they were both equally lost. The lack of conversation was preferred on Irien's part, and she assumed it was that of her companion as well. In the absence of any more cultists, both of them stopped crouching and walked comfortably. There really was no need to walk low to the ground when there was nothing but darkness around them anyway. The platforms did not run in even rings, and much like a real maze there were random twists and turns as the pair walked.

Unlike a real maze - thankfully so - there were no dead ends, and they never had to backtrack. Shaken by the thoughts of the ziggurat in the center but not knowing why, Irien kept toward the outer wall to the best of her ability and avoided straying too far into the center as she clicked her tongue and 'saw' the reverberations rather than with normal sight. She still walked softly; the fact that she couldn't see the ground her feet were walking on kept her in a constant state of distress. Tharga stayed close to her, and after the single time when the tip of the orc's toes just barely touched the edge of the platform bridge, she kept one hand planted firmly on the back of Irien's shoulder for safety. Like all elves Irien disliked touching others without reason; in this case, there was a reason, and Irien took comfort in the physical contact even from somebody she didn't know. To imagine wandering the place alone was a disconcerting thought. At least the current silence lingered over them by choice and not due to actual lonliness.

It had taken Irien perhaps half an hour of walking alone to find Tharga's cage, but without anyone to walk with, the wandering felt more like hours. Just a very, very long time walking in the darkness by herself with absolutely no idea what she was doing or where she was going. She could almost feel herself in the forests of north central Darkshore like she was only fifty years old again. She had wandered away from her mother's camp, and what had started as a pleasant leave of absence for her mother (who rarely received time off from her eternal post) became a rather harrowing experience as Irien ran until she could only walk, not even knowing if she was becoming closer to or farther away from the camp. Oh, she had received quite the punishment once mother did manage to find her...

A building.

Irien stopped moving and felt Tharga's hand tense on the back of her shoulder. The Orc was already on edge, and Irien couldn't help but frown at how fidgety and nervous they both had become. Neither of them had said a word the entire time they had just been walking forward in the blindly, and the reality of what they were doing rushed into Irien's mind just then. They were trapped, balancing on a series of walkways over a pit with no visibility and insane devil worshippers wandering on the prowl. Irien had been in tough situations in her day, but nothing like this. Even when she'd worked security on a passenger ship during the Cataclysm, she had been in her element while helping the rest of the crew to keep their ship afloat. Where she found herself currently couldn't have been anybody's element.

"What is it?" Tharga asked, snapping Irien back to reality.

"A building ahead and to the right," the night elf answered. "Another little bridge leads to it. It's perhaps...twenty by twenty feet." Her ears twitched and picked up something else, a bit more faint. "I hear chanting, like from the cultist that read that foul book over you."

Indeed, the building appeared to be hovering in the air; no piller supported it from beneath and no ropes suspended it from the ceiling, which she had been able to locate - unlike the bottom of the pit.

"How many voices are there?" Tharga asked, getting right down to business.

"I hear two, a man and a woman. They aren't pausing; maybe they're really focused." Pausing herself, Irien turned to face Tharga and could see the woman's suddenly determined, unstressed expression. "Do you think we can take one alive? To beat some answers out of it?"

Tharga grinned wide and nodded, and already had her dagger in her hand. Disapproving of the woman's overenthusiasm, Irien motioned for her to stay back.

"I can sneak up and kill one of them; my people are like shadows," she explained as she struggled to find all the right words. "Wait here, and watch where I walk. When you hear the first one die, follow that same route and help me beat up the second one."

Clearly disappointed, Tharga acquiesced to the plan and crouched low again as Irien moved forward. The dagger wielding shooter made haste as she turned right from the main platform, taking long, striding steps in order to demonstrate the way she had discovered by way of her tongue clicks. After three paces, she hung another right and shadowmelded again once she was in front of the open side of the little building - it had only three walls.

Just as with Tharga, the acolytes were chanting and reading from prayer (more like curse) books in front of someone slumped on the bottom of a cage. Except this time, there were two. Both of them were heavy from what the echo from Irien's tongue clicks told her. Picking the male due to his greater height and thus potential threat, Irien crept up and slit his throat. The entire approach and killing blow had both taken no more than forty five seconds. The female had been so enthralled by her own chanting that she didn't even notice that her friend was gone until Irien had clamped a hand over then woman's mouth and slammed her belly first onto the ground.

Controlling her by squeezing her tail painfully in her free hand, Irien called out Tharga's name in the lowest voice she could muster.

The Orc hurried over as quickly as she likely could without endangering herself and sheathed her weapon as well. The cultist thrashed and flailed, held quiet by Irien's firm grip. Without even needing to be asked, Tharga knelt down and punched the hell out of the pinned cultist. The blows rattled against the woman's rib cage, and in her anger at their captivity Irien let go of the woman's tail with her free hand and punched cultist in the back of the head a few times.

It was Tharga who stopped first.

"Wait! Irien, wait!"

"What?" the night elf snarled in frustration.

"She's dead already!"

"Wha - we barely even hurt her yet!"

"She is definitely dead!"

Checking her pulse, Irien confirmed it: she was pinning a corpse to the ground. They had completely blown their chance to shake anybody down for information. Frustration consumed her as the feeling of being lost returned.

"Damnit, why do they have to be so fragile!" Irien lamented.

Despite the huge age gap between them - a gap of almost a thousand years, literally - Tharga displayed a cooler head. "It's over, then. Since this place is so huge, there are bound to be more of them." Irien seethed silently despite comprehending the truth of the orc's words and nodded in begrudging agreement. Nudging her shoulder, Tharga pointed to the heap in the cage. "We need to get her out; there's no point in lingering here."

Looking up, Irien spied the unconscious prisoner who looked to be in worse shape than they had been in. Also a woman, and a Draenei like their captors, the prisoner had been stripped to her underwear and was handcuffed. She bore no signs of any kind of abuse, but her situation appeared so unfortunate that there was no fear of her being one of the cultists. The woman was almost average for a Draenei but had wider shoulders and especially wider hips than most and appeared quite strong. Hopefully, she was an adventurer like them, and would be both willing and able to help them fight their way out.

"She's breathing," Irien sighed with relief. Again, she had no idea who this person was, but the mere fact that she shared Irien's plight made the night elf feel an immediate connection - even to a sleeping person who couldn't respond.

Tharga was already searching for the key chains of the two dead acolytes when the bound, half naked woman opened her eyes, and Irien could sense right away that something was wrong.


	3. Voices

Irien scrutinized the single Draenei female's golden eyes as the woman scrutinized her back. Unaware that the prisoner had even been woken up, Tharga just continued pilfering whatever she could from the robes and belt pouches of the two dead acolytes.

The draenei's skin was a light azure color, similar to that of Khujand, the jungle troll her mentor Cecilia was dating. Short black hair that fell just below the disheveled woman's ears lay in a ruffled mess, and although her handcuffs didn't look painful, they were obviously enchanted and looked like they would be difficult to hack through without an enchanted blade.

But that wasn't what was so disturbing. What bothered Irien was the strange calmness in the woman's eyes. If her situation was anything like theirs, she had passed out in the wilderness only to wake up in a cage in this horrid place. And not only that, but restrained. And not only that, but in her underwear with no weapons or armor. And not only that, but she was wearing granny panties, and no matter how serious their situation was Irien couldn't prevent the mocking smile that crept in from one side of her mouth.

Even while smiling at the woman's ridiculous taste in undergarments, Irien was still aware that she wasn't normal. Trying and failing to sit up on her knees the first time, the draenei slid her legs around in order to shift her weight and lean back against the wall. Gold and silver exchanged looks: Irien's one of curiosity, the draenei's one of illogical disinterest given their plight. She had a feeling that coaxing this woman into action would be much more difficult than the cake walk that 'convincing' Tharga had been.

"Hey, miss, we're here to help...don't scream, alright?" she asked quietly in Orcish; Anushka had once told her that most draenei knew the language somewhat due to proximity to the race.

Once the words left Irien's lips, she felt that they had been rushed. This woman had literally just woken up to find in front of her two dead bodies, an orc and a night elf with bloody knives and herself stripped half naked and in handcuffs. In a cage. In the dark.

Pinpricks ran up and down Irien's spine and she began rotating her ears to listen for other cultists. She felt almost certain that the woman would scream for help, accuse them of doing this to her, and attract attention to themselves. It almost would have seemed like a logical decision.

Yet the draenei's reaction couldn't have surprised Irien more.

"Thank you."

Two blank gold dubloons glowed back at Irien's pair of shiny silver coins in the darkness, and even Tharga looked up from her searching of the bodies at the woman's weird reaction. Her expression was totally blank, and she literally just continued sitting there without saying anything more or even shifting away from the wall. She didn't look hurt, tired or afraid. She didn't look like anything at all, except alive and existing.

"Y...you're...welcome?" Irien asked in incredulity. "For saving you?"

"Yes." No expression.

"Ma'am, are you hurt at all? Are you..alright?" Irien asked cautiously. The woman didn't appear mentally ill so much as just shockingly unbothered by being restrained in a cage in the dark.

"Not exactly," the draenei replied, and then said nothing. She never broke eye contact in discomfort and seemed as though she would have been comfortable just having a neverending staring contest where blinking was allowed.

Lacking the patience to wait for whenever the woman decided to elaborate, Irien pushed a little further. "Well...are you able to walk? We were prisoners like you; we're going to escape."

The woman's face displayed the faintest hint of enthusiasm at Irien's promise, though that didn't make her any more open to the discussion. "I would like to escape," she droned.

"Can you walk?" Tharga interrupted brashly. She had laid out two more daggers and keychains on the floor, but made no move to let the woman out yet.

It seemed impossible that the draenei could be one of the cultists; for them to intentionally lock up one of their own in hopes that escaping prisoners would set her free and then fall to an ambush - it would have been a crazy waste of resources. And there was nothing shifty about the woman at all. And she was handcuffed. She just seemed a bit off.

"I can walk."

Not wanting to overwhelm the woman, Irien waited a moment before saying anything else. If Tharga continued interrupting, they might come off as aggressive, which wouldn't build trust. Surprised at how focused her thinking was, Irien waited one more moment and looked at Tharga as if asking to be allowed to handle the talking.

"Both of us remember chasing members of the cult of Sargeras," the night elf explained, "before falling asleep. We woke up in cages ane escaped by stealing keys." The draenei didn't nod, only staring and occasionally blinking. Her eyes appeared completely lucid and alert, and her lack of responsiveness began to feel more like a _refusal_ to interact than an inability. "Did that happen to you, too?"

"Yes."

Tharga snorted and sat with her back against the wall outside of the cage, looking out the open doorway into the darkness. Her appearance was one of someone frustrated but trying very hard to remain civil, and Irien understood why. Sitting down herself and crossing her legs, she tried to appear as kind as possible as she spoke.

"My name is Irien. This is Tharga. Look, we woke up confused like you - we don't know each other and don't know how we go here. But one way or another, we are going to help each other get out of here. And it's scary - waking up in a place like this. But we can help you too, if you come with us."

This time, the woman didn't wait that long before responding.

"I am not confused," the draenei protested emphatically. And then fell silent again.

Raising an eyebrow, Irien scooted closer at the same time that Tharga turned to look at the caged draenei. "What does that mean?" she asked intently. "Do you know how we got here? Or why we've been taken here?"

"Yes."

"Then tell us!" Tharga exclaimed. "Look, you're traumatized, we get it, but there's no time to sulk! What do you know about this place!"

Irien bristled in concern that the draenei might be intimidated and overwhelmed, yet she simply gave the same blank stare, apparently unperturbed by the interrogation. "We've been taken here by the Cult of Sargeras."

When the draenei went silent after a single sentence again, Irien felt Tharga grind her molars together and placed a hand on the orc's forearm, trying to calm her down. It was maddening, it truly was, and just as much for Irien as it was for Tharga. But the night elf knew that they would need all the help they could get, and that this woman seemed to know more than them. Ironically, Irien didn't feel the connection of wanting to help someone sharing her plight with the draenei the way she had with Tharga. Tharga's race were considered enemies of Irien's own in the modern age, while the draenei's were supposed to be considered allies. And yet as Irien ushered Tharga a few paces away to sit down, she felt a sisterly sense of wanting to soothe her into relaxing despite having met her under an hour before and not having said much during that time. The draenei...well, Irien just wanted the information she seemed to hold and another potential pair of hands once they could get her out of those cuffs.

"Alright, the cultists. Like the ones Tharga and I both saw before passing out. And you saw them before you passed out, too?" Irien asked while forcing the most polite voice she could.

"Yes."

"And they have us in some sort of secret lair here, I take it?"

"Yes."

"How do you know that?"

"The rumors."

"What rumors?"

"The ones about their secret lair."

Tharga snorted through her nose in what sounded like a combination of frustration and despair and slumped even lower against the opposite wall. Her stomach growled around the same time as well, and it was obvious that she was becoming even more stressed out just by having to listen to the plodding conversation.

Ignoring her, Irien pressed the draenei again. "Please, tell us. What you know might help us get out of here." She hoped that a direct appeal to speak might allow them to avoid another round of 'yes, I can tell you' type of annoying responses.

Holding the blank stare but with a slightly animated voice, the draenei began, no longer dragging things out when something was asked of her directly. "People say the cult keeps this lair underneath the ground. They sacrifice people on altars after starving them but not beating them. The treatment holds significance for the cult."

"And the darkness? This isn't natural, so what could be the cause?" Irien inquired while motioning out the entryway with one hand. She made sure not to ask any simple yes or no questions.

"I don't know exactly, but we can't turn off the dark. We can only look for the light, like the room over there-"

"Over where?!" Tharga burst out while sliding over to them on her hands and knees.

Irien fell over from her haunches onto her butt, clasping for the cage bars. "Slow down!" she whispered to the orc in a low voice. "She's obviously in shock!"

"I'm not in shock," the draenei droned with a droll.

"A light might mean an exit! Where did you see one!" Tharga's resentment toward the draenei had disappeared, and she almost looked girlish as she practically pleaded with the handcuffed woman in the cage.

"Over there," the draenei woman repeated without pointing with anything, not even a hoof. It took every amount of self control Irien had to both clamp a hand over Tharga's mouth yet also avoid punching the draenei herself.

"Alright, this is progress. Ma'am, Tharga and I - Irien," she said while pointing to herself again, "are going to escape this place. We are going to unlock your cage now and your cuffs, and we'll take you with us. But we need your cooperation-"

"You can't unlock my cuffs."

Tharga was already trying the various keys on the cage door, having grown so impatient that she didn't even bother growling in frustration or even removing Irien's hand from her mouth. For her part, Irien knew that trying to stop the orc woman from entering the cage and trying every key could cause her to cry out, possibly alerting other cultists, and she sufficed herself with focusing on trying to calm the draenei. She was actually trying to calm herself, but pretending she didn't feel the pressure of carrying two people even weirder than herself in a secret lair of devil worshippers who wanted to sacrifice them like sheep was her coping mechanism of choice.

Before she could even speak again, Tharga had already begun trying to coax the draenei to turn around and present her cuffs, but the woman didn't budge.

"How do you know one of these keys won't work?" Irien asked in a calm sentinel type voice, mimicking Cecilia to the best of her ability.

"The acolytes of these people are known for enchanting restraints without locks. There is no keyhole."

Finally just taking the woman by the arms and spinning her around, Tharga paused for a moment before letting out a long, depressed sigh. "She's right."

Staying seated on her behind, Irien felt an even greater sense of dread creep up on her. Not only was their new companion an unarmed basket case, but also couldn't even defend herself or so much as grab on to something to hold were she to step off of the platforms in the darkness. Given that Tharga could barely see a thing and didn't have the sensitive hearing of an elf, it was basically up to Irien to lead two people she didn't even know in a place she never knew existed while a gang of brainwashed fundamentalists tried to lock them up and starve them to death.

"There's the light again," the draenei said, interrupting Irien's thoughts.

"I see it!" Tharga burst out.

Spinning around on her butt, Irien felt so much of the dread filter out of her so quickly and for what was probably not good enough of a reason that she actually felt a bit of dizziness. Far off in the distance, a white light shone and then disappeared. Its outline came into and out of view unevenly, and by the speed and shape of the movement Irien could immediately sketch a mental picture - even as young as she was by night elf standards, she had still spent her fair share of time during the Long Vigil simply watching and observing shapes, light and movement when defending her homeland for centuries.

"That's a person, that's definitely a person," she whispered excitedly to the two other women. "The light is coming from a room, and somebody is moving in front of it."

"It happens every few minutes," the draenei said as though it were the most boring topic she could think of.

"Wait, I thought you just woke up?" Tharga asked while twisting the woman around to look her in the eye. "How did you see it?"

"I was only pretending to be asleep around the cultists," the woman explained. "I have no reason to speak to these people. They will not help me."

"We will help you; I promise that all three of us will get the hell out of here," the suddenly confident sharpshooter said with a renewed energy from within.

Irien motioned for Tharga to help her stand the woman up, and she complied. Once they had helped her get her hooves on the ground halfway up, the draenei sprang up to a standing position, and Irien could feel the power in the woman's legs just from one simple movement. She might be a great ally rather than a burden if they could only get those cuffs off and some armor on her.

Looking to Irien as though she were waiting for something, Tharga kept one hand holding the draenei's arm firmly. She didn't hide that she was trying to communicate something silently, but Irien didn't know the woman well enough to read her expressions with that much detail. She tried tilting her head inquiringly, but Tharga only blinked at her in some sort of signal she didn't understand. When the orc nodded toward the draenei with her head, it made a little more sense.

Looking back to the draenei, Irien found the woman staring intently at the place where the light had been but not saying anything. It was impossible to tell if she felt hopeful due to having been rescued, uncomfortable due to her two rescuers having already clicked with one another, or both.

"Please tell us your name," Irien said while stepping to catch the woman's attention.

The draenei stared into her for a moment, not the least bit uncomfortable with the eye contact but not giving away any actual hint of what she was feeling. After some time during which Tharga miraculously didn't interrupt, the draenei droned again.

"Zhenya."

"Jen-ya...Jjanya...Zhenya. Nice to meet you, then." Irien's impatience took over after having gained all the information they needed from the slightly annoying oddball, and when Tharga said nothing more as well, the night elf found no reason to loiter. "We're going to get out of here. We're over a series of...platforms." She said the last word in Common, wanting to be more specific for the sake of understanding, though she switched back to Orcish right away for Tharga's sake. "You fall, then you probably die, but I can navigate our way through here. Stay close to us."

There were a hundred questions the woman could have asked. She could have asked how Irien would navigate her way when none of them could see more than three feet in front of them. Or what was supporting the platforms from underneath. Or what they planned on doing once they reached a room with a light and people - probably the bad guys - inside.

But not this...Zhenya, her name was.

"Yes."

It was almost as if she didn't care if she lived or died. Tharga rolled her eyes but smiled, likely feeling the same sense of hope that they just might be able to find a way out of the place. With one hand around Zhenya's arm and another on the back of Irien's shoulder blade again, the orc's demeanor improved dramatically. "Let's do this!" she quietly beamed.

And do it they did. Clicking her tongue once more, Irien led the way across the platforms, turning and changing route as needed as they made their way toward the light. It still flashed again occasionally, causing the trio to pause every so often with baited breath as they waited to see if they had been spotted.

They hadn't, though. Using her echolocation - which she would be sure to brag about if she ever visited Darkshore again, some day - Irien was able to expand the mental picture she'd already drawn. The light came from another entryway with a wall almost immediately after, but behind the lone wall was the rest of the room. She could sense objects inside but the reverberation of her tongue clicks didn't paint an accurate enough picture; indeed, even were she an actual bat, she may not have been able to tell what exactly was in there other than two people. The echoes would have to go through the doorway, loop around the wall, and bounce off of everything in such an exact and precise angle that they came back to her, but such an angle was physically impossible. As it was, knowing there were only two people in the room - one much taller and heavier than the other - was enough.

This time, Irien didn't even bother counting how many minutes it took them to work their way over to their destination. Her heart rate increased again by the time they had neared the far wall of the entryway, and she could tell that they were near the corner of the large...well, place. A pit, apparently, but the platforms were relatively close to the ceiling. Anyway, they got to the far end near the wall and approached the entryway.

Before they came within earshot of anyone in the room, Irien stopped them.

"You two wait here; I'll scout ahead," she whispered. "I won't go in without you but I can observe the place first so we can plan what we'll do."

"Be careful, and don't take any risks," Tharga said with a concern in her face that made Irien feel warm. None of them had spoken on the prowl over to the entryway. There were no gushing sessions where the trapped strangers poured their hearts out or got to know each other. And yet, at that comment, Irien felt like she knew the orc better than had they chatted the entire time.

Zhenya...well, she just nodded in affirmation and stared at the floor she couldn't even see that well.

Unsheathing both of her pilfered daggers just in case, Irien shadowmelded and crept ever so slowly toward the entryway. There were a good thirty yards between her companions and the entrance, and she took her time creeping up; no need to rush things.

And once she knelt closely enough to the entry to spy on the whispered conversation within, she was surprised to hear not only two cultists speaking in draenei, but a non-orc yelling in fluent, unaccented Orcish shouting insults to Sargeras in the language behind another door that was apparently in the room...something was going on.


	4. Information

Irien slinked back through the entryway like the had when she initially spied on the two people inside. The wall facing the opening opened to the left halfway to the door frame, and it was from there where the light Zhenya had initially seen had been escaping. To the right was a dead end that held some stray junk items - a coat rack, half of a splintered, broken dresser and paper waste. It provided a great place for Irien to hide while shadowmelded, especially since the light from the other side of the wall didn't quite reach there.

She had explained the situation to Tharga and even Zhenya in painstaking detail. Although she hadn't found the opportunity to actually peek around the wall, her echolocation had provided a detailed enough picture. There were two people on the other side of the wall: one taller and wearing a very heavy set of armor while one was shorter and wearing the robes of the acolytes; both were Draenei. There were two light tables inside with small objects laid on the top. The objects were two small to be weapons unless they were simple daggers like the ones she was carrying herself.

The plan she had formulated with Tharga was simple. Irien could stealth like all night elves, but was not a rogue; she would need further distraction to find a gap in the taller figure's armor and stab. She would wait at the dead end while Tharga would draw the warrior out. Although daggers weren't the weapon of choice for either of them, the two of them both had training and expected to make short work of the armored warrior. The acolyte was less of a problem given that Irien sensed no fel magic emanating from the room, just like the four others they had killed so far.

Zhenya, interestingly enough, finally decided to contribute to the conversation when it came to a do or die situation. According to her, the cultists employed armored warriors they had enlisted for their cause and while those warriors tended to wear very heavy body armor, they usually left the top half of their heads exposed. That was certainly good to know, though the woman still didn't react when Tharga thanked her profusely.

And so Irien waited at the dead end, once again listening in on the conversation within the room. The two enemy draenei talked in their language but in low voices. Part of their stupid religious beliefs, Zhenya said, which also explained why the first cultist Irien had killed never screamed even when she yanked on his neck tendrils. All the easier for them, the night elf thought as she waited at the dead end of the little hall; that meant there was less of a chance of them being discovered by roaming patrols.

Her heart pounded in anticipation of what was about to happen. Zhenya was waiting safely down the platform, away from the entryway where she could be knocked off by the coming melee. Tharga crept closer and closer around the corner of the entrance, and in spite of the seriousness of their plan, Irien couldn't help but grin when the orc stared in the direction of the dead end as though she knew the night elf was there. There was only a split second to bask in their little secret, however.

"Hey! Let's go spit on that effigy of the shithead, Sargeras!" Tharga hissed while banging on the wall, and the two cultists audibly jumped in shock. "What a fucking stupid god!"

That was all it took. The two cultists roared - the little acolyte even louder than the warrior - and from their lips spilled what Irien assumed was every known curse word in the draenei language. Tharga immediately stepped back out to the platform and waited just out of view, and the warrior already appeared in the narrow hallway. He was tall, perhaps just a little taller than Cecilia who herself was even taller than most males of the night elves. The warrior's shoulders were so wide that the man couldn't charge, and as he stomped his hooves like an angry tauren might, his heavy metal armor scraped against the walls. Like the Iron Horde, it seemed that the Cult of Sargeras substituted proper craftsmanship; the armor didn't have the ring of something properly forged from composite material for strength but rather had been crudely and impatiently banged out to simply be as heavy as possible. For the likely civilians these miscreants kidnapped, his clinking armor with huge, almost comically oversized shoulder pauldrons and two handed sword that was more cumbersome than sharp were probably intimidating. To a seasoned war veteran like Irien who had been training for centuries, the demonic looking draenei just looked slow, clumsy and lacking in situational awareness.

And unprotected. Sure enough, the top half of his head as well as parts of his neck were uncovered by his armor. That would be his undoing.

Before the big man could even stomp through the entrance, Tharga had already begun slashing upward toward his face, and even though his back was turned to Irien by that time she knew from his pained shout that Tharga had cut him on the face. He reared back and tried to swing blindly with his sword, but his ridiculous pauldrons were so large that he could barely move his arms, and his elbow caught on the entry frame just as Tharga shoved him back. He lost his balance and leaned into the wall to brace himself, thrusting the sword out through the entrance. Tharga had already dipped around the corner again, and the demon - no offense to Irien's new friend Zhenya, but angry draenei really looked exactly the same as demons - roared again in anger.

But his roar was cut off.

Breaking her shadowmeld, Irien dashed forward and plunged one of her daggers into the man's ear canal, sinking it in as far as she could. He dropped a hard elbow in her direction but missed, having aimed for someone his own height, and Irien dodged around him while leaving the dagger stuck in the man's skull.

Tharga was already in the entryway again, and although her movement with the daggers was far clumsier than a rogue's would have been, she precariously disarmed the man of his sword as he fell to one knee and clutched at his plugged ear canal. Not wanting to give him the chance to push either of them outward toward the edge of the platform, Irien slashed his throat and kicked him sideways to the ground, and to her surprise the warrior didn't struggle as he bled out on the ground. He didn't even try to kick her with his hooves; it was as though he had accepted his fate and wanted to die with a sort of dignity. She could have respected that, were he not a vile cultist performing person sacrifice.

There was no time to gloat, though. There was still another person in there. The room was lit inside and the acolyte was alone; he'd be the one they would interrogate.

"There's another cultist around the corner of the wall!" Irien said out loud, not even bothering to whisper.

Tharga had already rounded a corner and before Irien could catch up, she heard the scuffling of chairs and a table and the high pitched voice of a nervous man whining.

"Fools! You cannot stop the inevitable!"

Once around the corner, Irien saw two tables with metal enchantment tools, five chairs and a heavy iron door to one wall. A berobed cultist was teasing a dash to the left as Tharga had him cornered around the table. He leaned to the right when Tharga walked around the left of the table, and were she not brandishing two daggers at him they would almost look like a brother and sister chasing each other in circles around the dining room table. Rather than having fun, however, Tharga merely became enraged, shouting at the man as she tried to chase him in futility. Irien joined the fray, trying to follow in the other direction, but in the enclosed space the man was surprisingly agile and as he shoved chairs in their direction and even climbed underneath one of the tables, they had to back off more than once to prevent the raving fanatic from escaping the room altogether.

It was extremely frustrating until Zhenya clopped in on her hooves, having grown tired of waiting outside. The man ignored her as he focused on the two other women trying to corner him, probably not even noticing just another bound prisoner. It proved to be his undoing, as Zhenya practically waltzed right up to him, lifted one leg straight back and then kicked the man squa in the nuts.

"Oooohohohohoho!" he oinked as he clasped his hands over his groin and rolled on the ground like some slapstick comedy show at the Stormwind theatre.

"Get him!" Irien cried with a little more glee than she was proud of. "Don't hit him in the face!"

::THUMP:: ::WHUMP:: ::WHACK:: "No!" ::PLlNK:: ::BAM:: "Mama!" ::KAPOW:: ::BLAMMO:: "Why!"

They beat the hell out of him, making sure to avoid his vital organs so as to keep him alive. Even Zhenya helped, and her previous stoicism melted away as she seemed to take revenge for having been stripped and handcuffed, kicking the guy in the ass furiously. When he actually started crying, they backed off, took the waist tassle from his robe and used it to hog tie him.

The three of them stood over their captive, eyes darting around as they caught their breath. Ignoring the fire inside her throat, Irien took the lead again.

"Alright, we need to figure out...a lot of things from this guy," she panted.

"What do they plan on doing with us and how do we get out," Tharga answered with her hands on her hips, more winded from chasing the acolyte around the room in circles a dozen times than from taking out the huge demonic warrior.

"We just need to get out," Zhenya offered, seeming to have woken up from her stupor after the confrontation.

"Officials from both our factions will need to know about this place," the Orc retorted, though not confrontationally despite discussing politics with someone who otherwise would be considered a traditional enemy. "This cult is an enemy to us all, and could interfere with the war effort against Hellscream's forces."

"I can hear everything you're saying, foul wenches - oof!"

Zhenya silenced the man's insult with a swift kick to his thigh. The three women all exchanged looks before the Orc and the Draenei focused on the night elf, who up until now had been thrust into a leadership position for literally the first time in her life. Although Irien had trained for centuries to be a ranger - even if she flunked out of the academy, she still valued the training - and even though she spent a good many years with Steamwheedle, she felt the pressure. She was the only one who could navigate through the dark, and by virtue of that the other two women seemed to be leaning on her to take initiative in most situations. During her bleaker days of enduring the hazing and bullying of the more skilled women at the academy, she often daydreamed up fantasies of her peers begging forgiveness after she saved them from some disaster. But there, in a prison of platforms over a pit, she suddenly wished Cecilia or even Khujand were there to take the lead instead.

"Alright, just bear with me here," Irien instructed her two companions. Digging deep she left them to kneel in front of the cultist and pull his head up by the hair, allowing them both a clear view of each other. "Why were we kidnapped?" she practically barked at him with no introduction, segue or escalation.

"To send you to the dark lot-ororororor ow!" Not even giving him the chance to shout more insults, Irien dug the claw of her thumb into his ear as punishment.

"Tell us why we were kidnapped or I'm cutting you open!" she shouted with more force than she had expected. In truth, Irien didn't know if she really had the guts to torture somebody. Sure, she had killed - all Kaldorei had martial training and were expected to use it. But due to their religious beliefs, they never left even the worst of foes to suffer and believed that the best death was the swiftest. "What does your stupid cult want!"

The cultist glared up at her defiantly as he spat his words through his clenched teeth. "We will soak this holy, consecrated ground with your blood when we - aaaaaarrrghh!"

Big mistake on his part. Quicker than he could even flinch, Irien whipped one of her daggers out and plunged it into the man's leg, leaving it in there. True to Zhenya's description, he bit his own tongue in an effort not to scream in pain even when Irien slapped him a few times. Tharga winced; from what Irien knew of the orcs, they thirsted for battle and one on one duels especially, but greatly looked down on an unfair fight. For sure she understood the necessity of the act, but Irien noticed when Tharga walked away behind the wall to stand guard at the entrance.

"Last chance before I lop something off, dipshit," Irien hissed, though the venom in her voice was forced as she secretly prayed that he would just talk. "Why are we here?"

Closing his eyes in a combination of anger and shame, the man relented. "We developed a new sleep spell and needed to test it on aggressive moving targets. Your eventual sacrifice will only be an added bonus."

Progress, she thought, and she made sure to hold the man's head up a little more gently once he began his confession. "Good to know," she huffed, hiding her relief at the prospect of not having to draw blood again. "Now, how do we get out?"

Quicker than a bipolar teenager experiencing mood swings, the cultist's entire countenance hardened again. "Laid on the altar of the dark lord!" he growled in a voice so rough that it actually did make his ridiculously cheesy line sound dead serious.

This time, he didn't give in when Irien scratched his bound arm, merely grinning at her angrily. She knew it was a front given how he'd reacted to being stabbed, but the man was testing her and if they wanted any more information, she would need to do something she really felt conflicted about doing - even to a devil worshipping kidnapper.

Digging deep, she channeled the confessions of her mentor's Darkspear boyfriend, whose greatest shame was his time spent as a torturer for the Warsong Outriders. Were he to ever know that his story led her to imitate his crimes he might have some sort of a breakdown, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

After a moment of pause, Irien reached under the man's robe and gripped his tail. According to her draenei friend Anushka, their people's tails were just as sensitive as their neck tendrils, and Zhenya gasped and looked away once she realized what Irien was doing. The man froze, holding his breath as the night elf sharpshooter squeezed.

"Last chance," she warned both him and herself. "Where is the exit?"

Already shaking, the man became desperate as well. "I'm very sorry, but there is no exit. Once you're inside, you can't YYYYEEEEAAARRRGGGHHH!"

With a snap, Irien yanked and broke his tail, and even Tharga re entered the room at the sound.

"Gag him!" she urged. "He might alert others!"

Irien tore off a chunk of his robe and covered his mouth with it. He tried in futility to bite her hand, only causing her to pull on his mangled tail again. He cried, sobbing into the cloth for a bit as Irien gave him time to recover from the mind numbing pain and herself time to come to terms with how far she was going to ensure her own survival.

"That was technically your last chance. Talk." She squeezed his tail between her finger and thumb one more time to push him, and he broke down.

"Leave here, hang a left, take the first right and another left. It leads straight to the portal," he sobbed.

"Portal?"

"You'll see a dark purple light. It takes you to the next level, from whence you must ascend the shaft and locate the exit ramp."

"How do we do that?" Irien demanded, squeezing his tail again in an effort to keep him under pressure.

"The top level is much easier to navigate than the bottom level. Just ascend the shaft, go straight until the end and then left, and please just go," he begged for his life. His panic seemed legitimate and she didn't doubt the truth in what he was saying.

"What about guards?" Tharga asked, kneeling down next to him on the other side.

"There aren't many; we don't need them here-"

Before he even had a chance to finish the sentence, Irien piled on more pressure. It was more to vent her anger than to get more information out of him, though keeping him scared was certainly beneficial.

"If we encounter any, we're telling them about you and letting them go!" she threatened legitimately, not needing to force anger in her tone this time.

The man bucked despite being hog tied, clearly terrified by the thought. "No! No! You can't do that, I'm answering your questions!"

Grabbing him roughly by the back of her neck with her free hand, she hissed at him again, baring her fangs. "Then tell us how many guards there are and where we can find our weapons - we know you people took them!"

"Oh Sargeras, don't tell them I said anything! I'm helping you!"

Irien drew her other dagger and held it to his neck. "How many guards?"

"Not more than a dozen between here and the exit ramp, but they don't roam and are posted in groups of no more than three!"

"How can I get out of these restraints!" Zhenya shouted at him immediately after, punctuating her question with a swift kick to his ribs.

"The storage room for confiscated weapons and armor will also have the magic key because it was also confiscated from a rival cult!" the man sputtered, struggling to answer all the rapid fire questions being thrown at him.

"Where do you keep the food!" Tharga shouted while slapping him on the back of the head.

"Right next to you, there's a bag of food in the corner!"

"Why is it so dark in here!" Zhenya growled before Irien could stop either of them.

The man was clearly overwhelmed by how fast he was being kicked, beaten and interrogated with no time to even breath in between questions. His wide eyes looked as though he had seen a ghost and he began to involuntarily spit as he talked.

"Fel Magic! I mean, dark crystals! I mean-"

"Where are our fucking weapons!" Tharga said with a punch to the man's kidney before Irien could wave at her to stop.

"AT THE SECURITY POINT NEAR THE KILL SWITCH!"

Gasping, the man froze so suddenly after the words spilled from his mouth that he might have pulled a muscle in his back. The fear in his eyes was replaced by an almost accepting dread, like someone who was facing death itself. The three women fell silent as they all tried to comprehend what the man had just said.

Irien pressed the dagger into his neck. "Kill switch...you mean for this blasted prison you've built?" she asked intently. "A way to end this whole operation of yours?"

When the man flinched from her words rather than the dagger, she knew she was on the mark. "So if we pull that switch, your whole stupid cult comes to an end, fuckstick? Is that it?"

The man closed his eyes, not reacting when Irien squeezed his tail this time. Opening them once more, they were filled with a serene calm.

And then he bucked his head up, intentionally slitting his own throat against Irien's dagger before she could pull away.

"Ack!" Zhenya grimaced.

"Shiiiiit," Tharga whispered, almost impressed by his dedication.

"Coward!" Irien cried out as the man grinned at her as though he had earned a victory.

He bled so much that the three of them had to step back to avoid being stained. As the life faded from his eyes, they stood in silence, none of them quite sure what to do. But before any of them could speak anyway, voices from behind the iron door caused them all to jump.

"Hello? Is there anyone not a cultist outside?" asked the voice of a human speaking Common.

"Let us out of here!" shouted the voice of someone not an Orc speaking Orcish like a native speaker.

Both voices were male, and obviously not hostile. Irien and Tharga stared at each other for a moment, and Zhenya fell into her whole catatonic act again. Not that either of them took notice. The men both stopped speaking after that, giving the Orc and the night elf a chance to stare at each other in confusion for a bit longer.

"What do we do?" Tharga asked, once again flipping responsibility onto Irien.

"One of them spoke Common...Zhenya, do your people native to this timeline know the human language from Azeroth?"

Doing her blank stare thing again like some sort of defense mechanism, the Draenei just shook her head. "Not the cultists. They're hostile to everybody and would have no way of learning."

Mulling it over in her head a bit more, Irien came to a quick decision. "More people might mean more help escaping. And if we encounter any of these security patrols, we'll need that help."

"Open the door, then?" Tharga asked.

"Open the door."

It only took them a few seconds to locate the keychain on the cultist corpse - they had all collected a large amount of keys by then - and unlock the door. Tharga tried her best to wield the dead guard's oversized sword and aim it at the doorway as Irien stood to one side and pushed it open. Inside the bare, drab room, they were treated to quite an odd sight when they found the two other prisoners waiting in cages.

One of them, a middle aged human with reddish brown hair cropped short in what human soldiers called a "crew cut," still had most of his armor on, though his was much heavier than Irien's. He wore the tabard of the Knights of Stormwind, the well known guild of do gooders who often provided supplemental manpower to Alliance outposts. He waited patiently as he leaned against the wall with his hands folded over his knees, though an undeniable look of relief washed over him as the two women entered - even the Orc.

The other man looked more irritated and gripped the bars tightly. He wore the trappings of an Orc grunt just like Tharga, his fur and leather boots providing solid padding as he braced them against the cage as though he had been trying to kick the door open. His bulging muscles were covered in pe'a tattoos all up and down his waist, thighs and his left arm; the apparent crown to his body art was the large, clear tattoo of the Horde symbol on his forehead.

It wouldn't have been so confusing if it weren't for the fact that he was also human.

The four stared at each other for a moment, exchanging looks of curiosity and confusion. Only their breathing filled the room as even the human dressed like an Orc stopped pulling at the bars of his cage to gawk speechlessly at his two saviors, not out of lust so much as shock.

Things couldn't have gotten weirder until Zhenya, handcuffs and all, clopped in the middle of the entire group.

"Can we just get them out of the cages and skip all the blank stares?" she asked without a hint of irony in her voice. "There's no time to waste."


	5. Tricked

Irien assisted the knight while they adorned what parts of Zhenya they could with whatever scraps of armor from the downed warrior would fit. Due to her handcuffs, her hands and forearms couldn't be armored, and because the demonic warrior was quite a bit taller than her, not all pieces would fit. The obscenely oversized shoulder pauldrons had simply been tossed aside.

Once the trio of women had released the two men from their cages, there had been surprisingly little talk among the group. As with the other two women, Irien talked very little with the two men. There were no gushing sessions of getting to know each other and telling stories of their pasts. Nobody had spoken more than the bare necessities, save the two Horde members.

There was, however, surprisingly little awkwardness or hesitation on the part of the two men. The moment they saw the motley crew of women and the dead cultist behind them, an almost instantaneous bond of trust seemed to have formed, and Irien didn't feel the tension she had when she first unlocked Tharga's cage and then spent time sizing up and being sized up by someone she had to be sure wasn't one of the cultists. No, nobody really knew each other in their party of five, but yes, they certainly had a strong, loyal connection as they prepared to set out from the little lighted room.

The knight who assisted Irien, William Argyle, could only speak Common and had no way of communicating with his captors - or his cellmate. Despite such a harrowing situation, he appeared to have a cooler head than the rest of them, even the thousand year old night elf. As soon as he heard the news of the cultist's confession from Irien - he couldn't speak to Tharga and Zhenya kept demanding to be fed too rapidly to hold a conversation - he began to help her formulate plans and strategies to combat potential patrol parties. His guild might have an unimaginitive name, but their training proved to come in handy and his strategizing helped Irien to relax.

The other human was a bit more difficult to understand. By far the tallest human she'd ever seen - about the height of herself and noticeably taller than William and Tharga - he only spoke Orcish, claimed to have been raised by orcs and was a partisan member of the Horde. He respected Zhenya and William for sharing his plight and staying level headed, but was blunt in saying that once they escaped their companionship would come to an end. It was a bizarre sight to see, but the presence of Tharga made his partisanship tolerable; the real actual orc was oddly more tolerant of members of the Alliance, and the way Tharga and the Horde human clicked immediately mediated his political ideology.

Oh, and his name was Gutripper. Irien couldn't have made that one up if she tried.

The two Horde members sat on the floor and commiserated while they waited for Irien and William to complete Zhenya's armoring. As it turns out, strapping armor on another person who couldn't assist you was fairly easy but also slow and time consuming, and it took nearly ten minutes to figure out which pieces would fit her and then fasten them on. At least she would have some protection, though without her arms free she would still be reliant on the rest of the group given the precarious nature of walking on platforms in the dark. Irien and Tharga now had three daggers each, while Gutripper was the only one strong enough to wield the dead draenei warrior's two handed sword with any accuracy. William had improvised, noticing two enchanting tools on the tables that were heavy enough to function as blunt instruments. Nobody knew what they were intended for, but they both had the shape of a letter T and would cause quite a bit of damage when swung against anybody's head.

By the time they had hammered out the escape plan in two different languages and decided on an order of battle, they had been able to rest up, calm down and at least have some food. They were in as good of a condition as they could be considering their having just escaped captivity, and when they exited the room they could almost have been described as being high in spirits.

As the two most heavily armored, Irien and William brought up the front. Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth once more, the reverberation of her own voice bounced back to her and helped her to guide the group along the path the cultist had described. Sure, he was an enemy, but the fear in his eyes led them all to assume that he had told the truth. William kept one hand on Irien's shoulder as they moved at a snail's pace, and Tharga kept one hand on William and another firmly wrapped around one of Zhenya's wrists. Gutripper merely shouldered the two handed sword he had claimed, hanging back in case there was an attempted sneak attack.

And so they marched, barely a word said among them. They may not have known each other, but at that time and in that place, they relied on one another as comrades in arms who had spent years by each other's sides. The addition of two more members to the party was comforting, and Irien was able to comfortably echolocate without keeping a dagger in one hand. In a way, she was almost able to relax.

The silence was slightly uncomfortable, as everyone had agreed that excessive noise would draw too much attention. Thus when that silence finally was broken after what must have been an hour of creeping along the platforms in the pitch black, cavernous dungeon, the sense of dread returned rather quickly.

"I hear footsteps," Gutripper whispered from the back.

Irien's sensitive ears picked up his comment and Zhenya and Tharga most likely heard him as well, though William probably did not. Not that it mattered, considering that he only knew a few words in Orcish.

Nobody replied at first. None of them wanted to; it was as though they all just hoped he would correct himself and say it was nothing a moment later. But when he repeated the comment, Irien once again felt the pressure of being expected to lead. They were all following her and essentially relying on her ability to get them out of there.

"I don't hear anything," Zhenya replied in what sounded like a forced monotone voice.

"What was that?" William asked in Common.

"Gutripper thinks he heard footsteps," Irien replied in his language.

After waiting for another second, the knight spoke. "Lady Rainsong, it might be prudent for us to pause momentarily. You'd be able to hear any footsteps better than the rest of us."

Hesitating only for a moment, Irien switched back to Orcish. "Halt," she ordered the group, "and don't make a sound."

Everyone did as they were told, and the last sound Irien heard from their group was the echo of one of Zhenya's hooves bouncing off the nearest wall to the left. Immediately, the pores of Irien's scalp began to itch and her pulse began to race.

"There was a second sound of hooves far behind us," she hushed out in Orcish.

William stood patiently as the others chimed in. Given his experience, he probably didn't need to understand the words due to the change in demeanor of the group.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Zhenya asked, seemingly more talkitive when under stress.

"Absolutely, positively one hundred percent sure," Irien answered with a quite confidence. "As soon as we stopped moving, so did they."

"How do you know it's they?" Tharga asked nervously.

"They wouldn't have people patrol a place like this alone," Irien surmised while trying to think of what to do.

Gutripper didn't seem bothered one bit despite the fact that he should have been. "Let them come to us, then. If two of us here already killed six of their troops, then a scout party is no match for four of us!"

"I helped kick the last one," Zhenya protested weakly, but her words were ignored.

"None of us can see and we don't know this place; the advantage is theirs," Irien retorted, and the human who thought he was an Orc didn't argue. "We have to keep moving; I can already hear the echoes of the far wall and what feels like another entrance. That should be the portal to the next level." Realizing that the other human had no idea what had been said until now, Irien turned to him contritely. "There were definitely other footsteps very far back, but they stopped when we stopped, plus I can hear an entryway ahead. We're going to keep moving," she explained in Common with a waver in her voice that made her angry at herself.

In reaction to her slight nervousness, William rubbed the back of her shoulder where he had kept his hand. Under any other circumstances a man trying to massage her without permission would have ended up with a broken jaw, but knowing the reputation of the noble human warriors called knights, she could tell he was only trying to reassure her. "I, and I am sure the others, have the utmost confidence in you, Lady Rainsong," he said softly in Common. "Lead the way, and we will be out of this Light forsaken place soon enough."

Although she still felt some anxiety, the words from the weathered warrior did help, and they pressed on again. When trying to catch the reverberation of her tongue clicks, Irien was unable to focus on any sounds behind them, and was left reliant on all the short eared members of the party to alert her to any other sounds. It wasn't a sure thing, and by the time she had caught sight of the dark purple light the cultist had described, the sound of footsteps behind them had returned. And if they had returned loudly enough for the others to hear them, that meant they had been followed for a good deal of time.

"I think I see the portal!" Tharga beamed.

"I also hear the footsteps again," Gutripper added. "And they're speeding up."

Zhenya didn't appear afraid so much as focused and concerned. "Can we run the last stretch?"

"That isn't safe," Irien said in Orcish as William waited, always patient. "The platform is narrow and none of us can really see. The best we can do is-"

Brashly, Gutripper interrupted as he stopped walking. "They're too close!" he exclaimed in normal speaking volume. "They're already on to us!"

Even though William couldn't understand the words, he appeared to comprehend the exchange and reacted as though he had been in such a situation a hundred times before. "Calm down," he addressed to the other human who couldn't understand him, either. At that point, William stopped walking and Tharga and Zhenya both bumped into him. "There," he said slowly as if he hoped Gutripper and Tharga would get the point when he motioned toward the portal off in the distance. "The portal is there."

"Come on, guys!" Irien urged in Orcish. "We're so close!"

Gutripper appeared - as far as Irien could tell given the lack of visibility - resistant. Tharga turned and placed a fist on his arm, holding it there as the two of them shared a look. Probably an Orcish thing, the night elf assumed, and it only took a second of wordless convincing for Gutripper to look back to the party leader with an acquiescent nod.

"Let's hurry up, then," Irien said, and although she didn't actually run, she kept an even pace.

Clicking her tongue furiously, she led them the best she could, and step by step the light from the portal became even brighter. They couldn't have been more than a hundred yards away when they heard the voices.

"Intruders!" a harsh demonic voice growled from behind them. The footsteps of two different people, one of them heavily armored, sounded from behind.

Without any prompting from Irien, the entire group froze in their tracks. They bunched together on the platform, and Tharga released Zhenya in order to stand shoulder to shoulder with Gutripper.

"Stay close together!" Irien said, fighting back the anxiety of having to fight enemies they could only see as faint silhouettes in the darkness. "Don't let them split our ran-"

::BOOM::

The fel fire from a warlock's wand exploded in front of them, rocking the entire platform. Despite the apparent structural stability, the metal it had been forged from shook and they all stumbled except William. Shouting on both sides erupted, but it was the decidedly monotone plea that caught Irien by surprise the most.

"I am in need of assistance," Zhenya callled out with an impossible calmness as Irien saw two golden eyes flicker when the draenei hit the edge of the platform. "I'm going to fall."

It was too late. Zhenya tried to crunch her abs and dig her armored knees into the metal platform, but the plate couldn't generate any friction and without her hands free she began to slide over the edge head first. Almost in slow motion, her own body weight dragged her down as her legs bucked in a futile attempt to latch on to something. Had Zhenya possessed feet instead of hooves she might have had a snowball's chance in hell of hooking the edge of the platform, but as it was the poor woman could do nothing but call for help as first her shoulders and then her hips slid over the edge.

"I've got you!" Tharga shouted as she slid on her belly over toward Zhenya without even standing up.

The battle shout of the obviously armored sentry came closer as he charged, and Irien vaguely heard the crackle of another demonic spell as she and Gutripper bumped into each other in the dark while trying to stand. William had dropped out of sight, and everything had happened so fast that there was no time to focus on anything other than the frantic mess falling off the platform.

Just at the last second, Tharga grabbed Zhenya by the ankles. The draenei had fallen off the edge completely just then, and Tharga's shoulders went over as well due to the momentum of Zhenya's fall. Belly down, Tharga tried arching her back to anchor her knees into the platform as Zhenya had, but she also found that the surface was far too smooth and she continued sliding off as well.

"A little help!" the Orc shouted in a surprisingly less calm voice over Zenya's focused grunt as she tried to straighten out her dangling body.

There was no time to think. Ignoring the clash of metal on metal behind them, Irien dove forward and intertwined her arms with Tharga's legs, knocking the wind out of herself as she hit the floor. Their combined weight didn't help matters, and very soon most of Tharga's body was also over the edge as Zhenya hung like a bag of rocks below. Unable to talk due to the impact of the floor against her solar plexus, Irien strained every muscle in her body to try and stop the two other women from swinging back and forth below the platform like a living pendulum. All seemed lost until Irien heard a heavy weapon hit the ground and felt two arms wrap around her shins.

"Lok tar regaar!" Gutripper shouted as he yanked Irien, Tharga and Zhenya all the way back onto the platform in one rough motion.

Another demonic spell exploded behind them and a death groan escaped a male draenei's lips from below the platforn. Unable to pay attention to anything else, Irien helped Tharga pull Zhenya into a relatively safe sitting position and allowed the completely relaxed woman to hit the platform in a heap. Remembering the danger they were in, Irien leapt back to her feet and was the first to take a few steps back, weapons at the ready, before she realized that the only sound filling the air was the smoldering of a dying fire and the heavy panting of an injured human.

"Sir Argyle!" Irien gasped as she ran to the kneeling knight in singed armor.

The demonic warrior was nowhere to be seen, but his fel axe was lying on the platform, and the night elf guessed that William had knocked the fel foe into the pit. The warlock lay in a pool of his own blood with his head caved in, obviously from the enchanting tools the knight had used like twin hammers. William hadn't been cut or even seriously hit, and only his armor had been touched by the fire. But something was definitely wrong.

"We're safe for the time being," he gasped, bracing himself against the floor.

As Irien helped him up, she saw what had happened. His eyes held a slight green glow to them, and his pink skin had greyed somewhat. He hadn't been hit a single time by the other warrior from what she could tell, but he winced when he stood up straight like he was in great pain.

"He's been cursed," Zhenya said from her spot on the floor. "Likely a curse of pain without any real damage, but crippling regardless."

"I swear I'm fine," the knight insisted as he removed Irien's arm from his shoulder and hobbled along on his own.

Not understanding Common, Tharga and Gutripper both looked at Irien expectantly as they helped Zhenya to stand. The sharpshooter once again felt the pressure as she realized everything would have to be explained twice, and for some reason nobody ever looked to Zhenya to do so despite her also being multilingual.

"The warlock cursed him," she explained in Orcish.

"If I can regain my mana, I can cure him. I'm a paladin," Zhenya claimed apologetically. "But they must have drained me when I was asleep. I cannot feel the Light at this time."

William shook his head and waved his hand as he moved to the front of the group and stopped. "I'm fine, it's just pain. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can all rest." Though his body shook in torment, his voice remained steady and even the two members of the Horde almost seemed inspired despite not being able to understand what he was saying. "Lady Rainsong, please. We have to keep moving."

The muscles in the back of Irien's neck tensed. Perhaps the others felt uplifted by William's determination, but she just felt even more stressed. Not only was Zhenya still bound by enchanted handcuffs but William, in his current state, would probably also require protection.

She turned. The portal was close, and when she clicked her tongue a few more times she could sense that the platform ended even sooner and that there was a wide, safe foyer where there would be no risk of falling. With a heavy sigh, she led the way silently, and once the group reached the portal they all paused.

"This is it: the final level of his hellhole," she said.

"Thank the Light," Zhenya sighed in Common, perhaps without even realizing it.

Tharga stood before the whole group to get their attention. "Guys...whatever happens on the other side...I'm glad to have met you all," she said with almost a hint of happiness in her voice. "I'm not glad that we're in this situation, but I'm glad that if it had to happen, it happened with a group like this."

Unable to help herself, Irien smiled despite all the apprehension within her chest. "You're my sister as much as any member of Steamwheedle," the night elf said.

The energy of the portal hummed, beckoning them as the party all watched in awe. Having nothing more to say, the five stood shoulder to shoulder, locked arms and jumped through the portal.

::SHUMP::

The air pressure was much higher where they ended up, and once Irien recovered from the post porting nausea, she realized that they were in a much smaller enclosed space. Everyone seemed to have landed on their feet, and even William only stumbled slightly as they all silently looked around them in vain. The unnatural darkness still enveloped them, but having passed on to what they had been told was the final level of the dungeon, they all appeared considerably less distressed.

"Irien, what do you see?" Tharga whispered.

Everyone else remained silent as the night elf clicked her tongue, hearing the echo bounce back loud and clear. Irien felt a wave of relief wash over her when she shaped out the relatively small room, relatively close exit shaft and what sounded like an open area out the shaft without platforms or a pit, though it was difficult to tell from that angle. The shaft had no steps and was very, very steep.

"This room is small, and the exit shaft is right in front of us," she explained delightedly. "The shaft is very steep, but once we crawl out there don't seem to be any more platforms."

Zhenya sighed in relief, speaking in a normal volume. "Oh, that's wonderful new-"

"Sssswswswswswswswswsw!" chittered the hissing noise of several giant spiders.

"Oh shit," Tharga said plainly.

"Irien, how many!" William asked in Common without prompting.

Rapidly clicking her tongue, Irien drew her weapons and everyone else did the same, forming a square around Zhenya. "Too many, right behind-"

::SLINK::

Gutripper slashed out as he obviously felt the rush of air headed their way, cutting a spider almost his own size in half. Its left side fell at Irien's feet while the right dropped off in the dark, its disgusting insides spilling out all over the floor. The others began slashing randomly with their weapons, though the spiders seemed intelligent enough to fall back when one of the larger ones among them was cut down so easily.

"Backtrack! Come on! The shaft is just a few feet away!" Irien commanded, her adrenaline driving her.

Cutting and stabbing, more of the spiders fell as the square moved toward the shaft, and even Zhenya kicked a few of the arachnids that strayed too close. Visibility was enough that the group could see the bugs once they were a few feet away, and they were all experienced enough such that those which leapt at them from a further distance were quickly cut into pieces. Another exceptionally large spider crashed into them, knocking them literally up the shaft but missing with its fangs, and Tharga quickly hacked it to death with the fel axe she had taken from the last evil draenei warrior.

"Climb!" Irien shouted, and both she and Tharga tossed spare daggers at the hairy mass of at least a dozen spiders while dragging Zhenya up.

The incline was frustratingly smooth, and their progress was slow. Inch by inch, they ascended, greatly slowed down whenever William and Gutripper had to stop to kill more of the spiders; because Zhenya was completely helpless on the ramp, Irien and Tharga both had to sheathe their weapons snd pull her up by the arms. The combined hisses of the arachnids gradually coalesced into a roar despite their dwindling numbers, and a few medium sized individuals crawled over the smaller ones to poke at the group with their long fangs. Throwing a final kick, William sent a few of them crashing into each other, and the spiders huddled together menacingly as though they were working together sentiently.

Keeping them at bay, William stopped sliding up the shaft. "I've got them busy; the rest of you get Zhenya onto level ground!"

Already holding on to the bound draenei, Tharga pulled forward and began dragging Zhenya upward at double speed, ignoring everybody else and focusing solely on helping the bound draenei escape. Irien and Gutripper also continued climbing, though at a slower pace as they watched the spiders take turns swiping at the knight.

"William, you have to move up!" Irien yelled, though he ignored her completely.

Breaking a leg off of the largest remaining spider, William pressed against the arachnids, driving them further down. Irien stopped moving, ignoring the sound of Zhenya hitting solid ground above. To her horror, three more spiders crawled up from the portal room, and she began to think that the cultist had led them into a trap.

In between swipes, William turned halfway toward the rest of the group. "You'll be fine, just get out of the shaft! I'll make sure that the bugs don't follow!"

Panic gripped Irien as her back stiffened and her breathing hitched. "William, you have to come back up now!" she cried.

Several smaller spiders dodged around his slashes at the larger ones, crawling over his armor as they tried in futility to pierce it. He ignored them completely, not even brushing them off as he cracked one of his weapons into the thorax of a larger spider and then kicked it down the shaft twitching. He had only a single one of the blunt instruments left, and as he descended even further back toward the arachnids, Irien felt a tug at her arm.

"William! Come on!"

"They need to be held back - so they won't follow you out!" he yelled back as the spiders balled up into one great mass again.

"There's too many of them!" Irien screamed in anger and panic, feeling the heat rise in her temples as the human was forced onto the defensive.

Pausing as the bugs chittered at him in frustration, the knight looked upward and his eyes met Irien's. On his face, she detected no fear, hesitation or pain. William's look was one of serene determination, a look of absolute peace. And it terrified her.

Gripping his weapon even more tightly, he ignored the spiders pulling at his armor straps as he braced his feet against the wall of the shaft.

"I know."

Gutripper began dragging Irien up by her waist just as William flung himself at the spiders, letting out a final battle cry as he and every last arachnid tumbled out of view and back into the portal room. Irien may or may not have screamed as she felt Tharga grabbing her by the other arm, pulling her out of the shaft before she even realized how high they had ascended.


	6. Drag On

The group of four had walked for what felt like a few hours before they discovered the alcove. And amazingly, the walk had once again been one of silence.

At first, Irien had been an angry, sputtering mess when the others pulled her out of the exit shaft leading from the portal room. She hadn't known William save a few hours, and during that time they had said very little. Even on quests where she ended up joining parties with mercenaries or random adventurers, there was usually more chatting and getting to know who she was fighting alongside. Under the circumstances they found themselves in, however, there was almost no unnecessary talking at all. Beyond introductions, they said only a few other sentences.

So why did the image of William throwing himself at the giant spiders so that the others could escape hurt her like it would have hurt her to lose a true friend?

Deep down, she knew they would have been slowly overwhelmed on the steep exit ramp, and their chances of killing the entire swarm of spiders in the dark were slim to nil. True to the reputation of the Knights of the humans, William hadn't even thought twice about giving the others the chance to escape. But even when Irien relented and led the group in haste away from the exit shaft, her heart sank with the feeling that she had left a brother in arms behind.

The final level of the dungeon didn't seem to have any platforms at that point, consisting of an impossibly long hallway with smaller halls to the left and right. The hall was so long that Irien's tongue clicks didn't return to her, and she knew they were in for a long walk. Further and further down, they encountered no enemies and she heard no signs of life. Technically, she didn't even know if they were going the right way, merely walking straight ahead in hope that they may find something.

By the time they did reach the relative safety of the alcove, they had reached a second area of platforms. Instead of a bottomless pit, she was able to detect the presence of some sort of liquid pool below based on the sound of her tongue's reverberation. What exactly that liquid was, she did not know and did not intend to discover. Tucked off to the right after a few turns, the dead end was wide enough such that they could fight their way out in theory and also provided enough space for them to lay down.

As she slumped against the wall, every muscle in Irien's body screeched at her. Her chronic fatigue syndrome would make sure that she still felt winded for a long time to come; she knew its effects well, and it was one of the main reasons why she preferred firing shots at range to melee. It was also one of the reasons why she had always hated long marches so much. Apparently noticing how haggard she looked, Tharga sat down in front of her.

"Hey...listen. We have time to rest, and we're all going to need some sleep," the Orc said with a hand on her arm. "You and Zhenya have both had tough times so far."

"It's nothing, Tharga, really," Irien lied, though not skillfully enough.

"A true warrior knows when to rest. Look, you two sleep it off. None of us are of much use to each other without energy. Gutripper and I can take the first watch, and then switch roles whenever you guys wake up." Her voice was soft and low, and the look of concern she gave Irien embarrassed the night elf, but not enough for her to deny how tired she really was.

Her eyelids already drooping, Irien relented. "Alright...I guess it makes sense," she conceded though regretfully.

The sleeping arrangement proved to be a bit complicated. With her hands cuffed, Zhenya could only sleep on her stomach, which proved difficult as the ground seemed to be forged from smooth metal just like the platforms. In he end, Irien ended up sleeping on her side in the corner and Zhenya had to sleep while draped halfway over Irien's body. Any homophobia they might have had melted away as sleep claimed them both literally just a few minutes after lying together in the awkward position.

Voices. Irien's ears twitched as she awoke. Very far, very faint, but definitely voices.

She opened her eyes without moving, not wanting to disturb Zhenya. Her muscles still ached but not as much as she had expected, and for sure they had slept for many hours. Once the blur left Irien's vision, she was shocked to see Tharga and Gutripper sleeping next to each other. It wasn't that they were spooning after just having met each other so much that the four of them were all alone, trapped in a dungeon full of bloodthirsty cultists and had nobody to stand watch lest their hiding spot was discovered.

Fear and panic rose within her once more as she realized that she had to get the,m to wake up without making much noise.

"Pssst! Tharga! Guys, wake up!"

Zhenya stirred first, being closest to the source of the noise. "Mm...huh?" she mumbled with her eyes closed as her messy hair fell about.

"Psst! Tharga! Erm...Gutripper! Wake up!" Irien whispered as harshly as she could.

The two members of the Horde stirred, thankfully remaining silent. Even over the sound of them stretching and sitting up, Irien could hear the approaching footsteps off in the distance. And this time, there were more than two.

"Hmm...what?" the orc murmured groggily.

"Footsteps," Irien whispered while helping Zhenya to her knees. "At least four of them this time."

It didn't take more than that. Zhenya leaned against the wall to brace herself and stand up, while Tharga and Gutripper stumbled into position near the hall. The barbarian had a look on his face like a big, bearded child caught stealing the cookie jar.

"We didn't realize we had fallen asleep," he mumbled without making eye contact. "But it couldn't have been for long!"

"Whatever; we have other things to worry about," Irien whispered with a wave of her hand. "I need to get a better listen to know how close they are. Stay here."

"We'll wait by the entryway in case you need us!" Tharga hushed out. She was already following Irien out before the night elf motioned for her to wait.

"Just stay with Zhenya for now; we don't want to risk alerting anyone."

Tharga waited next to her at first, worry written all over her face. They had lost one of their group mere hours before, and Irien could tell that the orc had become just as attached as Irien had despite the short amount of time they'd all spent together. Gathering up her resolve, Irien placed a reassuring hand on Tharga's shoulder as she often saw the outlanders doing.

"We are getting out of here. I promise."

Not even waiting for a nod, Irien shadowmelded and walked out, wandering around the platforms hanging over the liquid pit. The area was much smaller but with fewer platforms, which meant less room for getting lost but also less space to hide in.

Back from the direction whence they had come, Irien heard the sound of five footsteps. She only had to listen for a second before hurrying back into the alcove with her assessment.

Zhenya could already tell there was bad news. "How many?" she asked.

"Five. Two warriors, two cloth wearers and what is definitely a demon. They're maybe a hundred yards away."

Gutripper clenched his fists, suddenly looking very awake. "We can take them!" he grunted. "Let Argyle's spirit be avenged!"

Her ranger training taking over, Irien shook her head and disagreed cooly. "Stay back; we can't risk losing any more. If I can identify which one is the warlock and take him out, then the demon will dissipate, and that's two of them out right there. The commotion it will cause can give you two the chance to jump the plate wearers."

"Isn't there something I can do?" Zhenya asked dryly. Irien could tell that the woman already knew the answer and was likely just being polite.

"Stay alive, and stay quiet," Irien said while walking out again. "I'll wait until they're almost on top of you here; when the chaos ensues, come out swinging."

Tharga and Gutripper readied their weapons as Irien shadowmelded again and made her exit. Anger and anxiety clouded her mind, but she somehow managed to fight it off enough to find a path leading off to one side and wait. The minutes felt like hours as the enemy party slowly came into view, and she grit her teeth as the muscles in her jaw flexed involuntarily. She couldn't have been down there for more than seven or eight hours; it all still didn't feel quite real. Half a day ago she had been doing her job along the post road, whittling away the time on her shift by wondering what her next move would be in the three day long chess match she and Cecilia had been engaged in. She was supposed to have finished her shift and returned to the garrison. She was supposed to be gorging on sugary draenei snacks.

She wasn't supposed to be fighting for her life to escape a pitch black dungeon hanging over a bottomless pit.

Draenei language. The patrol group was just about passing her. She crouched low, holding her breath and thanking the Goddess when the demon with them was a typical horned monstrosity and not one of the dog like ones that could detect stealthed enemies - namely, her. The two warriors stood out in front, similarly decked out in obscenely oversized armor and carrying two handed weapons strapped over their shoulders. The warlock was marked by her robes which glowed with runes enchanted into them, while another cloth wearer trailed behind. He appeared to be an acolyte, shorter and skinner than the others, perhaps only Tharga's height and much leaner. There was a bewildered look on his face, and he wrung his hands as he dawdled behind the others. He would be a good one to interrogate for further information on their escape, she thought.

The group passed, almost walking with a swagger as the marched. It was a rather poor patrol compared to what the night elf was used to; not only did they appear unaware of their surroundings, but they weren't even marching in any sort of formation. The two warriors occasionally bumped in to one another, and the acolyte as the end was entirely forgotten by the others.

Irien crept up behind them as they neared the alcove. She didn't have much time, and this had to be done the right way. She wasn't a rogue, and her stealth would only take her so far. Trailing the group, she rapidly passed the acolyte without fear, and the young man didn't even notice. Bracing herself, she lined up right behind the warlock and charged.

"Aaaiiiieee!" the woman screamed as Irien shoved her off the platform to her doom.

The whole group turned save the acolyte, who dove and hit the floor. The warriors bumped into each other on the platform, uncoordinated as they both reached for their weapons around their overly wide shoulder pauldrons at the same time.

The demon's hands began crackling with fel energy, only for its body to crackle with the same sound as its master's screams ended below.

"Shakhtarak xo muglar arrggghhh!" it hissed as its body was consumed by flame before disappearing into nothing.

Tharga and Gutripper had already attacked, and the two warriors only had a chance to turn around before they were struck. Tharga crashed her axe into the first warrior's skull, causing him to stiffen like a statue, unmoving even when she kicked him off the edge of the platform. Using one mighty swing, Gutripper actually cut into the second warrior's warrior like a tin can, slicing into the man's body with what looked like minimal effort. The warrior fell, gasping as Gutripper kicked him over the other side.

The acolyte rose to his knees with his hands in a begging motion, babbling in his own language as Irien threatened him with her daggers but didn't attack. Zhenya had already made her exit, clopping over as her handcuffs jingled.

"He is saying...shut up for a second!" she scolded in Orcish at first before shouting the young man down in their own language. "He claims that he can help us out of here if we take him with us."

"Bullshit, he's fucking dead," Gutripper growled while lifting his sword.

"Wait! We need time to think!" Irien commanded while standing in front of the now crying young man.

Zhenya began trying to get answers out kf the sobbing mess while Tharga took Gutripper by the arm again. "We got a good deal of information out of the last one."

"And it led us to Argyle's death!" Gutripper managed to keep his voice down, but his rage was only barely contained as he glared at the acolyte desperately speaking to Zhenya at a hundred words a minute. "We have no guarantee that this one won't lead us into a trap!"

"We do if we force him to come with us!" Irien protested.

"Into a group of his allies?" the barbarian asked sincerely.

"He says that he joined to prove something to his friends and that it was the biggest mistake of his life," Zhenya translated as the man literally crawled on his hands and knees to Irien. "He was been looking for a way to escape for weeks because the cult doesn't allow people to quit after joining!"

Looking down at the man's tear streaked face, Irien felt not an ounce of pity but a sense of the man's desperation. His face was contorted in pain, yet he seemed unaware of the huge barbarian brandishing a sword right next to him, and Irien took that as a sign that he was more concerned with escaping the cult than being killed by escaped prisoners right there.

"Ask him how we can get out of here," Irien ordered.

Zhenya did so, and hope filled the man's eyes as he calmed down a bit and began counting points on his fingers. Tharga had already strapped her axe back over her shoulder, and Gutripper was at least shouldering his sword as though he weren't about to cut the acolyte in half as well. The explanation was rushed but sounded detailed, and Zhenya had to pat the man on the head for him to stop talking.

"Alright...alright. He says the same as the other cultist - we go all the way down this path and then the exit is to the left, but he added more."

"What, exactly?" Irien inquired.

"He says there are two points where we have to fight through. The first is a sort of junk storage where they toss weapons and items they confiscate from their captives. The key for my handcuffs are there since they were stolen, along with more weapons, but it's guarded by three warlocks and three felguards each."

"And after that?"

"We climb another shaft before the exit ramp, and the light from outside will show us that we're near. There are only warriors at the front, new recruits but with the same heavy armor, and-"

The man began sputtering again, ignoring Gutripper's growl as Zhenya tried to calm him down.

"He says his name is Kiril and that he has a family to return to in Shadowmoon, so please take him with you. He swears he is telling the truth."

"He's full of shit," Gutripper muttered, and Tharga looked unconvinced.

Studying the man's terrified face closely, Irien saw a fear that no actor could feign. She still didn't feel sorry for him at all, but she believed what he was saying, and knew that he could help them get out.

"He's telling the truth," she said after a moment. "Gutripper, stay behind him. If he tries to pull anything, then you know what to do."

"You can count on that," he muttered angrily at the cultist.

"No, wait, how were they walking through here without being able to see?" Tharga asked while pointing at the man, and he shrank back.

Zhenya translated the question, and when he answered, the man became animated and almost relaxed. "He says they memorize the pathways as part of their training. He knows exactly how to get out and says we can reach the storage area in less than an hour."

The group stood silently for a minute or so, all eyes darting between the man and Irien. This time, she didn't feel pressured as the others looked to her for a decision; the path seemed clear.

"He and I will walk on point so I can make sure he doesn't steer us wrong. Tharga, you hold on to Zhenya. And if this guy lies to us, he'll pay."


	7. Killswitch

"So this kill switch...it can cause this entire place to cave in?" Irien asked for Zhenya to translate.

Unlike their previous treks, the group had been more talkitive this time. Though Gutripper never stopped eyeing Kiril in the event that he tried to spring some sort of trap, they had all taken turns asking questions about the precise details of their escape during the long, straight march down what started as a platform but then became a narrow corridor.

The storage area was established because the cultists had no use for most items confiscated from their prisoners, but leaving said items behind after kidnapping would risk leaving a trail. Nobody had caught on to what was happening so far, and dozens of people had been sacrificed after being starved first. The cuffs for Zhenya had been an added precaution on top of draining her mana; the cultists feared the Light and despite the draenei heretofore being the least helpful of the group, the cultists considered her the most dangerous.

They would all prove dangerous shortly, however. Kiril had detailed the storage area exactly. Two warlocks and a felguard waited in front of the small underground building, which only had three walls and was open toward the exit shaft. Before that, there would be a guard of one warlock and two felguards. There were three hallways for them to approach by; Irien would provide a distraction while the first group was cut down, while Zhenya apparently trusted Kiril enough to hang back in his care until the key to her cuffs could be retrieved. The battle plan was, despite their horrid situation, rather plain and simple.

What interested them more was the kill switch which had been installed just outside the final exit ramp to the surface. In the event that the location was ever discovered, the cultists had orders to cause a cave in, destroying the deep, cavernous dungeon that Kiril claimed had taken fifteen years to magically construct. They took their secrecy seriously, and would end all those years of work in a matter of minutes if it came down to it. Kiril became visibly excited when explaining that the switch was a simple green lever near the exit, designed such that the one who pulled it would have a minute to run out to the exit ramp.

That was during the hour that they had walked, however. In the meantime, the sound of voices again alerted Irien to the fact that their time of escape was drawing near.

Kiril mumbled something to Zhenya, who nodded before speaking up to the others. "He says we're here," she translated.

"I hear their voices already," Irien replied as the group came to a halt. "If I get you free early on, can you use your magic?" she asked Zhenya.

"Not possible; my mana reserve can't replenish itself without something to drink." Pushing forward from Tharga, she stood to face them all. "But I will be of much more use to you all with my hands unbound."

"We can keep you covered while you try to make it to the storage unit," Tharga suggested to Irien. "I'll hang back and keep the initial group busy while you rush forward. You can weave in and out of battle the easiest, so better you take Zhenya and I watch Kiril."

"So the twerp hangs back, then, and Zhenya goes up?" Gutripper asked, though by the tone of his voice he was only confirming the plan.

"That's it, apparently; you come with she and I on the initial charge after we first create some chaos," Irien said as the plan changed slightly. "Tharga will hold the rear guard off until we can get Zhenya free. At that point, she and I can split up to help you and her."

"Are you able to sneak a peek, first?" Tharga asked while pointing to the corner from whence the voices came.

"All too easy," Irien said with a grin, and shadowmelded once more.

Slinking around the corner, she had a surprisingly good view of the scene. The small building used for storage had more of those magical lights inside, illuminating the immediate area though not all the way to the ceiling or the exit shaft directly across. But is showed enough.

Just as Kiril had claimed, there were two groups of three - two demons and a warlock close to them but just out of the shadows, and two warlocks and a demon beyond the storage area. He had also claimed that there were two more entryways to the large, open area but Irien couldn't see them. That was a good sign; it meant they couldn't be seen. Even if the others had memorized the walkways like Kiril had, they didn't expect to be attacked by escapes prisoners, and they wouldn't know where to look.

She crept back to the others, finding them ready; even Kiril had pulled out a dagger and stood out front, unperturbed by the barbarian standing behind him in case he turned on them.

"He insists on helping us fight," Zhenya explained. "He says they stole his life from him."

"Well, now is probably the best chance for revenge he'll have. We have the element of surprise; they all look bored, even the demons, and they're in the exact formation he claimed." Irien took Zhenya by the arm and stood off to one side, motioning for Gutripper to leave Kiril and follow. "There's nothing more to say or do; are we ready?"

"Let's kill a few bad guys!" the barbarian whispered...well, angrily.

"We'll make them pay!" Tharga added.

"Me too, once I get free!" Zhenya bounced on her hooves like a night elf, and the actual night elf couldn't help but smile at the colorful party she was leading.

Tharga and Kiril walked on point, creeping as far forward through the shadows as a non rogue would feel comfortable with. Her heart in her throat, Irien motioned for them to wait as subtly as she could, not wanting to create too much movement that could lead to them being seen. The warlocks continued picking at their fingernails, staring at their shoes and even trying to talk to the felguards, so bored were they. It was as good a situation as they could ask for. Readying one of her four daggers, Irien took aim at the nearest warlock and threw.

::SHPUK::

It hit the man in the face, embedding itself in his cheek and jaw as he fell to the ground, gritting his teeth and refusing to scream per their stupid religious beliefs. By the time the two demons had turned to face the group and the far off trio of bad guys had taken notice, Kiril had already flung himself upon the downed warlock, stabbing him a few more times as Tharga swung at one of the felguards so viciously that it screamed out in what could almost be described as fright before groaning in pain.

Not saying a word, Irien led Zhenya toward the storage unit as Gutripper barreled ahead, releasing a battle cry and scaring the two other warlocks so much that their first spells fizzled out. The last felguard rushed to meet him, taking a nasty wound on its arm before it had even swung as Gutripper beat it to the punch.

"Around the back!" Irien gasped to Zhenya as they ran. "Follow me!"

The two split off from the others as they looped around the back of the storage unit, using the shadows as cover. Fel magics and demonic magics exploded on the other side of the unit as Irien held on to Zhenya the best she could, twisting her around the corner and practically throwing her into the mass of stolen goods in the unit piled three feet high.

"There!" Zhenya cried out while pointing at something shiny at the very bottom of the pile with a hoof and almost falling over in the process. "I see it! The key to my cuffs!"

Without even asking how or why, Irien began tossing aside pots, pans, maces, shields, backpacks, shoes, helmets and talbuk saddles aside as she reached for what looked like a glowing brass rectangle.

"What do I do-"

"Run it in front of the cuffs!" Zhenya shouted frantically just as the outer walls were rocked by fel fire.

She turned around, and to Irien's surprise the cuffs snapped open and fell to the ground when the rectangle was waved in front of them. The glow from both objects quickly faded as Zhenya popped her shoulder joints with a painful grimace and was already running outside - unarmed.

"Wait! You don't even have a weapon!"

His left arm smoldering from a burn, Gutripper ran one of the warlocks through with his sword right in front of Irien just as she heard Kiril's pained cry to her right.

Too far away for anyone to do anything, two felguards - both of them with deep cuts in their armor and flesh from an axe had grabbed Kiril by his shoulders and behind his knees. Rotating away from each other, they literally ripped the screaming young man in two pieces as his insides spilled onto the floor. The second warlock began crackling a demonic spell that caught Irien's attention momentarily, though she quickly cut him to pieces with her daggers and left him to collapse over the battered corpse of a felguard who had been impaled by Gutripper. It was then that she saw Zhenya charging like a madwoman toward the last two demons.

"Zhenya, you idiot!" Irien called out as her heart jumped into her throat. "Stop!" The night elf ran after the foolhardy draenei, only to stop in her tracks when she realized that Zhenya needed no help even after having her arms twisted and restrained for perhaps half a day.

"Xo ghosh torgat bog!" one of the felguards shouted as Zhenya grabbed his massive hand, twisted his thick fingers like they were licorice sticks and pulled his own sword from his hands easily, leaving the demon powerless to do anything but slap at Zhenya's hands helplessly like a prissy girl.

"Yah!" the single draenei female shouted as she swung the sword so hard that the blade cut through the felguard's shoulder piece, then his shoulder, then diagonally through his torso and down the other side, leaving a clean, unragged cut.

The last demon was literally so shocked that it stood like a moron, its ugly jaw hanging open. With no hint of anger or any emotion at all, Zhenya dropped the sword, grabbed the second felguard by its neck and crotch, lifted the ten foot gargantua over her head and slammed it into the floor, breaking its neck. By the time she finished the melee, she had already calmed down and Irien realized why the cultists considered her such a threat. Irien actually dropped her two daggers, not noticing the despondent look in the draenei's eyes.

"Zhenya...holy...shit!" the night elf gasped in awe as she stumbled over to her comrade. "That was incredible! That...hey..."

Pausing at Zhenya's lack of reaction, Irien looked around at the carnage. The felguards had been killed so quickly that their bodies had only just then begun to dissipate into demonic ash, and the three warlocks looked like they had all been trampled in a kodo stampede. Kiril had been ripped in half, but as cruel as it might be, Irien felt it a befitting end: whatever his story was, he had allowed himself to be inducted and participated in the kidnapping of random people. To die killing his fellow cultists seemed appropriate. It wasn't an altogether bad scene, until Gutripper dropped his weapon and brushed past Irien, his hands trembling.

Tharga lay off to the side in a pool of her own blood, clutching a wound caused by a felguard's blade.

Perhaps knowing she couldn't heal and thus couldn't help, Zhenya wandered away awkwardly as Gutripper knelt down next to Tharga and cradled her head in his hands, holding her up to look at him. Shallow breaths signaled that she was still alive, and when she barely opened her eyes to look at him, the two held on to each other as though nobody else were there. They had only known each other for as long as Irien had known them, which wasn't even quite half a day. Yet she knew as she observed the scene that, at that moment at least, the two members of the Horde were sharing something. They likely wouldn't have shared it under normal circumstances, but as she gripped his free hand with hers, they looked each other in the eyes and said much more than either of them likely could have with words. Irien knew little of the ways of orcs other than that they were perhaps the only race on Azeroth even more emotional than humans, and Gutripper's behavior until that point indicated that even if he was human on the outside, he was Orc on the inside. Tharga, despite her rough exterior, ran her thumb along his slowly as she bled out, neither of them making an attempt to talk, to apply extra pressure to the wound or move her from her spot as she gradually slipped away.

In her last moment, she lifted the axe she had been using to fight until that point. With a shaky hand, she offered it too him, her lips pursed in determination as her eyes spoke of every emotion save fear or sadness - Khujand had once explained that the religious beliefs of orcs prevented them from fearing death and Irien now understood it to be true. Tears of anger dripped down Gutripper's face as he accepted the axe, nodding to her even though she hadn't said anything. He kept his hand over hers on the hilt as they gazed at each other, and eventually her neck relaxed back into his hand. Her eyes narrowed as he laid her head gently onto the ground, and Irien choked back tears of her own - tears she couldn't explain but which she wouldn't have felt the need to anyway - as she saw the life fade even though the lids didn't close.

Gutripper folded Tharga's hands over her chest once the hand on the axe hilt slid from under his and closed her eyes manually. Hanging over her for another undisturbed minute, wiped his face on his leather bracer before standing. Unable to speak, he gripped the axe tightly and Irien knew he would likely keep it for a very long time. Zhenya looked like she was about to apologize before Irien silenced her with a hand, and the three walked away while occasionally looking back to the body of their fallen comrade, sadness setting over them as Irien realized that in a chamber system made entirely of smooth metal, they would have no way to bury her as the orcs preferred.

The group made haste. Irien's muscles screamed at her once more, Gutripper's burn wound looked red and painful and Zhenya's shoulders likely felt as though they would snap, but there was nothing more to say and none of them seemed keen to rest.

As Kiril had promised, their weapons were there in the pile of junk, though Gutripper never made a move to claim his own. Irien found her hunting rifle and actually kissed it, but couldn't locate her backpack. Zhenya found an intricate suit of gold colored plate armor she claimed as her own, and by the time Irien finished helping her suit up the only parts of the draenei visible were her horns, hooves and eyes; even her ankles, tail and neck tendrils were concealed. She moved more slowly but looked like a living tank, and Irien was thankful to have the draenei out in front with the big, gold hammer bearing a pink crystal as the striking piece.

None of them said anything as they ascended the final shaft. Fueled by rage, desperation, hunger, thirst and sleep deprivation, they walked for what could have been minutes or hours as they followed a distant light down the last corridor Kiril had described. By the time they heard more voices, their anger hadn't subsided one bit, and they fell into formation without speaking. With the natural light filtering in to a mostly empty room that had eight warriors and two acolytes either sitting in chairs or milling about idly, Irien didn't even bother shadowmelding. Looking past Zhenya's shoulder from their vantage point around a corner, she lined up a shot that would run through the head of one warrior and the arm plate of another, aimed and took the first shot from the narrow corridor to another open room built on the same floor plan as the storage area.

::BLAM::

The bullet hit its mark, causing the first warrior's head to explode like a gory melon and the second warrior's arm armor to splinter like shrapnel, causing a small fountain of blood to spurt out. The others were so shocked that they all just stood up and glanced around the cavernous metal room like idiots, some of them even glancing up to the thirty foot high ceiling as though someone might be shooting from above. Zhenya and Gutripper remained where they were as Irien lined up the second shot, aiming for the head of a third warrior.

::BLAM::

She hit her mark again, gritting her teeth and hissing as bits of brain and skull splattered against the three walled enclosed that had housed a storage unit on the floor below them. The green kill switch was splattered with red, making its position very apparent as the seven living and uninjured warriors readied their weapons, more than half of them stumbling over each other as they charged.

Zhenya and Gutripper each hung off to the side, making sure to give Irien a clear view as she silently did what she did best. Once the warriors were on the move, she began aiming for their stomachs. It made for easier shots and still left them too crippled to be much of a threat, even if it didn't kill them immediately. She reloaded her armor piercing bullets and the gunpowder quicker than even the most skilled dwarf handling her blunderbuss, and three more warriors fell to the floor writhing in pain before any of them reached the group.

Finally showing some emotion, Zhenya let out a battle cry almost as fierce as Gutripper's, swinging low and slamming the first warrior in the hip with her hammer as his own swing fell ineffectively. Leaving him to limp away, she moved forward to the second and allowed its sword to bang her in the arm, letting her hooves leave the ground as she allowed the blow to move her rather than resisting. It seemed to lessen the impact, and the blade only caused a small dent in her armor that could easily be repaired. Irien shot the first warrior execution style as Zhenya swung back at the second, hitting him in the chest and denting his armor inward at such an angle that it pierced his chest, knocking him back about ten feet before he collapsed.

By the time Zhenya finished beating that warrior with her hammer far more than was necessary to kill it, Gutripper had already managed to kill both of the warriors that had run his way without taking any damage himself. The two acolytes had already begun ascending the exit ramp, only to be shot in the backs by Irien in rapid succession, tumbling back down into the blood soaked room.

Gutripper took his time walking to each one of the warriors Irien had shot non fatally and cutting them in half despite their heavy armor, and Zhenya began searching the corpses, taking coin purses and bags of food. Irien had only one thing on her mind, and her heart didn't cease beating with anger as she slung her rifle over her back and stomped over to the kill switch.

Just like Kiril had said, it was a simple, large switch about a foot wide enchanted with a fel green color. As she stared at it, images of waking up alone in a cell played through her head. She had only spent about twelve hours in that place, maybe even less, but she already knew it would stay in her mind more vividly than many of the other sticky situations she'd been through in the past thousand years. That serene look of calm in William's face before he threw himself upon the seemingly sentient spiders floated before her in the air as she reached to rest her hand on the cold metal of the switch, and the two times she saw Tharga smile threatened to distract her with sorrow. The pitch black of the bottomless pit opened up to swallow her as though she were still hanging on to these people precariously - these people who she had barely spoken to the entire time yet whom she felt closer to than many of her colleagues in the Steamwheedle Cartel. Disappointment over their inability to give Tharga or William proper burials stung her as she looked back to see if Zhenya and Gutripper were ready, and the same lack of joy at what should be a joyous occasion gripped them as well.

Taking a deep breath, Irien pulled the switch and jumped as an alarm that sounded like the scream of a murder victim filled the air. She bolted, and Zhenya and Gutripper both waited for her as the three of them held hands without awkwardness. They didn't truly know each other, and yet they did, and as rafters and chunks of earth fell all around them, they sprinted toward the light.


	8. Escape

"I see light!"

"Then thank the Light!"

"I see it too! Keep digging!"

"There's dirt in my eyes!"

"It doesn't matter, keep digging!"

"I was afraid we were starting to suffocate..."

"Not today, comrades! Dig like your life depends on it!"

"We're technically buried, our lives do depend on it!"

"More light, by the Light...you are...so generous..."

"Shove the rock back down."

"It will scrape your mail."

"I can get it repaired, just shove the rock down and kick it with your feet, it's blocking us!"

"Alright, there it goes."

"Agh, there's dirt inside my helmet, let's dig faster!"

"Air! I feel cool air on my hands!"

"Zhenya, help me push him upward so he can grab onto solid ground!"

"Okay, one! Two! Three!"

After half an hour of digging themselves out of a cave in, the three broke through as Irien helped Zhenya push Gutripper upward. Cool air rushed over them as he crawled out first and then extended his hand, pulling them out with him one at a time. Bright daylight blinded Irien as she rolled onto the soft grass, but she didn't care. Laughing with her eyes closed, she rolled around and felt the warmth of nature once again, thanking the Goddess for saving her. She could hear the others panting on the ground as well, and for the longest time, none of them moved to get up. The near simultaneous growing of their stomachs caused them to slowly rise and sit in a triangle, and Irien strained her eyes to take a look at where they were.

"Do you guys recognize where we are?" she asked generally.

Gutripper was the first to answer after they all spent s few seconds looking around. "Northeast Talador. I've marched through here before. We aren't far from civilization. There are several towns within a few hours walking distance."

"Pass the food," Zhenya spat as she removed her helmet. Her hair was drenched in sweat and she had dirt around her eyes like smudged mascara, but she made no efforts to clean herself up as Irien ripped open the bags of simple bread they had looted.

The trio ate in silence, nobody mentioning the day's events. Even though they had just survived such a horror, they all looked exhausted and despondent, and there was little conversation as they ate. They all chewed with their mouths open and smacked their lips, and even Irien tossed her elven table manners aside and licked her lips without pretense as they all finished. Once they did, Irien leaned forward to stretch her back, groaning in the process.

"Do you guys think it's safe to sleep out here?" she asked, feeling no shyness at all. They had shared something that she felt placed them beyond discomfort in making requests of one another.

"I can...try to stand watch," Zhenya murmured as her eyelids drooped.

Seeming to notice the state they were in, Gutripper intervened. "You two sleep. I can watch. I don't think I'm ready to lie down just yet after...that..."

All three of them looked down for a moment. Having escaped their imprisonment, Irien realized that they didn't know much about each other and had neither the inclination nor the energy to banter and share stories like most comrades would do after a successful dungeon crawl. They wandered for only a few minutes to a small patch of trees, and the two women curled underneath a bush as Gutripper sat down on a rock, hiding form the view of any potential passersby behind a tree but keeping a good vantage point in case anyone did find them.

Though the group didn't have much to discuss with one another, they did hold an incredible bond of trust. It took Irien very little to drift off, and she clearly heard Zhenya's snores before her own.

The chirping of crickets woke Irien several hours later. She still felt tired - she often did due to her condition - but by her body's standards, she was in much better shape than before. Immediately, she sensed a presence next to her and noticed Zhenya sitting up.

Night had fallen, and the stars provided the exact amount of silver light that Irien felt comfortable with. Stretching slowly as she anticipated a long watch to give Gutripper the chance to sleep himself, she froze when she looked to his spot and noticed that he wasn't there. Zhenya noticed that Irien noticed, and was ready with an explanation.

"I felt him leave not too long ago; I was half asleep. He took less than his share of the gold we scavenged."

Up with a jolt, Irien felt a quick tingle run between her eyes and up her scalp as the news bothered her. She glanced all around, confirming Zhenya's explanation and seeing the large man's tracks leading out of the clearing and toward the south.

"What did he say?" the night elf asked with more than a trace of disappointment in her voice.

Zhenya only shook her head, otherwise not moving from her spot. "Nothing; I was only half awake and he wouldn't have noticed."

"Did he leave a note?"

"No. He just walked off quietly with some money and the axe."

Snorting in frustration, Irien shut her eyes tightly. Truly, she didn't really know him. How could he leave without saying goodbye? After all the three of them had been through together? It boggled her mind. No amount of factional loyalty could lead someone to do that. Unless, she thought, it was simply too tiring and painful for him to remember. Perhaps losing Tharga had affected him that much...though he didn't know her any better than he did the others. Trying and failing to find an excuse for him, she huffed while running a hand along her rifle to make sure it was still there.

"I can't believe he just walked away after all that," Irien mumbled. When Zhenya didn't respond, she felt worried and turned to see the Draenei collecting her things. "I can locate Fort Wrynn by star navigation," she suggested anxiously. "I've learned to read the constellations from the standpoint of this planet."

Without looking at her, Zhenya sent an emotional punch to Irien's gut.

"I'm not going to Fort Wrynn."

Feeling a different kind of pressure, Irien rose to her feet and broke her people's usual restraint by holding on to Zhenya by the shoulder. "It's the nearest Alliance outpost from here, you can fly anywhere you want to go!"

"Thanks, but I think I'll march south on my own. I have business in Shadowmoon," the single draenei female said without making eye contact.

It was maddening. As it dawned on Irien that who should be a lifetime friend now was ditching her, she tried to think of ways to keep the woman talking. "Well, where in Shadowmoon? I mainly defend the postal roads with Steamwheedle. That's what I do for a living right now, you know. I can easily see to it that mail is sent. What's your address in Shadowmoon?"

"I don't have one," Zhenya said while attaching her helmet without even brushing the dirt off of her face.

Irien pursed her lips in frustration as the Draenei finished donning her armor. Once again fighting off the urge to punch Zhenya in the face - the same urge she had felt when she first met the woman - she tried one last time to reach out.

"My last name is Rainsong; I'm the only one working for Steamwheedle on Draenor with that name," she said sadly. "All you have to do to contact me is get a letter to a cartel representative with my name on it. Eventually, I'll receive it."

After she finished suiting up, Zhenya strapped her hammer to the back of her armor with what seemed like a magnetic device. She looked at Irien one last time before marching to the south as well, using a slightly different route than Gutripper had.

"I'll write to you," Zhenya lied. And then she marched south and out of Irien's life.

Dumbfounded, the night elf sharpshooter sat in the clearing for a long time, drawing lines in the dirt with a stick.

How could they? That both of them had just up and left her without looking back hurt almost as much as losing her other two comrades had. That day had been by far the scariest of her entire life and she surmised that the same was true for Zhenya and Gutripper. Yet when it came time to part ways, Zhenya had scarcely said more than a few lines to her, hurrying away uncomfortably as though Irien was nothing more than a stranger she had shared a park bench with. At least Gutripper had left while they were sleeping, unseen and unheard. That Zhenya essentially rejected Irien's offer of friendship hurt, and it hurt bad.

Seeing no reason to remain there any longer, she stood and began the two hour march back to Fort Wrynn. It would likely take her the entire lonely walk to wrap her head around the fact that she had left the fort, underwent the entire terrifying adventure and would then be back in less than a twenty four hour period.

The moon was still high in the sky by the time Irien reached the main gate. Her legs ached, her feet had blisters and her back felt like it would wilt over as if it were a neglected flower. She had found a freshwater pond on her way there and drank from it copiously after smelling it and detecting no disease, but she was already hungry again. Disheveled, sweaty, despondent and slightly smelly, the dejected and rejected sharpshooter flashed her Steamwheedle insignia at the guards as she passed through the main gate, and the place was largely empty given that few of the fort's inhabitants were nocturnal like her.

By the time she arrived, Irien was almost numb emotionally. The two hours had given her ample time to find all sort of justifications and defense mechanisms for dealing with the way things had ended.

She was supposed to have changed and grown as a person. There was supposed to be some sort of lesson behind it all, some higher, greater meaning. Yet as she found herself in civilization yet again, Irien almost became agnostic about the entire ordeal, finding no lesson about life at all.

"Did you hear the rumors?" she heard a human teenager say to one of the town guards off to the side. "They say that the Cult of Sargeras has some giant underground lair where they perform human sacrifice, but I think it's a bunch of garbage."

Immediately, Irien froze, bristling at the comment. I just survived that shit, you piece of shit, she thought. She was almost about to say something before the guard answered.

"It absolutely is garbage," he told the young man confidently, "so don't you go around spreading that. It's just a rumor with no proof, and will only serve to scare people."

The two men shared a laugh before walking off, and the night elf's heart sank. She had no proof of what happened, not a single memento from one of the worst experiences of her life. Few people likely knew, and those that did would call it a rumor. She couldn't even credibly deliver news of Williams martyrdom to his guild; she had no proof of his demise and couldn't even prove, if accused, that she hadn't shot him in the wilderness and stolen his stuff.

Feeling three inches tall, Irien wandered through town in a dad and eventually ended up at the tent Steamwheedle had set up for female employees. They worked based on rotation, but for their time in Fort Wrynn, the simple cots in that tent would be home. Given that it was still early in the night, even the non Kaldorei would still be at the pubs. Perhaps she could be alone to sulk in her stunning lack of meaning over the whole ordeal.

But as soon as she walked in, she was greeted with something even better.

"Irien! Where you goings!" chirped Anushka in her broken Common.

The spastic draenei, shorter and thinner than Zhenya and with no combat experience, was wearing pajamas as she looked at Irien worriedly. Next to her, and much taller, stood Cecilia, the twelve thousand year old night elf warrior who functioned as Irien's mentor, sister in arms and surrogate mother. She was wearing civilian clothes, a simple cotton shirt and pants with no shoes as night elves tended to do as long as the ground wasn't dirty. The two had apparently been engaged in discussion, but it stopped the moment Irien walked in.

"We've been worried about you; it's not like you to be gone for so long." Cecilia's voice was sort of husky, like she was always out of breath even when she wasn't, and it was relaxing to listen to. She moved closer and took Irien by the shoulder to spin her around, inspecting the dirt covering her mail. "You look like you had a rough time out there."

Irien tried to speak, tried to say so many things, but the words wouldn't come out of her mouth. Her breath hitched, and too many emotions washed over her. "Rough...weekend," was all that could leave her throat, and she coughed a bit as Cecilia pulled her closer.

"Well, you're back now, and it's over. That's all that matters." The older woman inspected the soot and dirt that still sat in the grooves of Irien's armor as if knowing something was up. "Of course you know, you have to tell us all about it."

The older elf's voice held a warmth, and her words held a kindness, both of which were lost on all but Irien herself. Overcome by the significance, she fell forward in her exhaustion and felt Cecilia's arms wrapped around her. Inexplicably goofy laughter rang out as everything that Irien had been forced to repress deep down while trying to survive resurfaced, and just laughing at the insanity of it all was her only recourse to deal with the realization of what she had. If there was any higher meaning to what she had suffered that day, it was returning to the new life she had forged with these people. And as she clung for dear life not like the battle hardened adventurer she was but like an exhausted caravan guard that just wanted to rest and share her tales, she felt a care in her mentor's arms she had never felt from her own mother before running away from home.

"Group huggings!" Anushka beamed obliviously as she hugged Irien from the other side.

As exhaustion once again overtook her, her friends helped her sit on her cot. She wasn't ready to sleep having woken up only two and a half hours before, but as her friends helped her get out of her armor, she felt like she wanted nothing more than to sit with them and tell bad jokes, eat bad junk food and laugh at nothing. Philosophy and higher interpretations of life's trials and tribulations could wait. She had all the meaning she needed right there.

"Let me start from the beginning..."

 **A/N: this is only the first story where Irien Rainsong, a misfit who ran away from Auberdine, takes the lead. This isn't the last of her, though I hope you enjoyed reading her first story.**


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